ili  I  i  m 


HI!'  mP 

'  "li! 


#1 


11 


II H 

sii|i||lli§i  i| 


r. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 


University  of  Californi. 


gift  of 


Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALSWORTH 

Received  October,  1894. 
Accessions  No.^XfJL  ,      Class  No 


"  * 


HISTORICAL    STUDIES. 


HISTORICAL  STUDIES: 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GREENE, 


LATE  UNITED   STATES'   C0N6UL  AT  ROME. 


alaxpov  TOl  dqpov  re  fitvelv  Keveov  re  viso&ai. 

Iliad,  II.  298. 

%?"  OF  THB^Y 

WIVKRSIT 

NEW-YORK: 

GEORGE    P.    PUTNAM,    155    BROADWAY, 

LONDON: 

Putnam's  American  Agency,  49  Bow  Lane,  Cheapside. 

1850. 


^ 


& 


<A 


\    \ 


*7  V<?  v- l 

Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

George  W.  Greene, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New- York. 


AJiDOVER:     JOHN    D.    PLAGG. 
STEREOTYPER  AND  PRINTER. 


TO 


GEORGE    SUMNER 


A    TRIBUTE 


TO  TALENT  NOBLY  EMPLOYED, 


TO 


FRIENDSHIP   LONG  TRIED  AND  NEVER  FOUND 


WANTING. 


>*"  OF  THB*^^V 

UlTIVI 

EEFAC:!. 


I  can  offer  no  better  apology  for  the  republication  of 
the  following  papers  than  that  there  are  some  things  in 
them  which  I  wished  to  preserve  ;  and  in  thus  grouping 
them  together  under  the  name  of  "  Historical  Studies," 
I  have  given  them  the  title  which  seemed  best  suited  to 
their  nature  and  their  origin.  They  are  a  record,  too, 
of  pleasant  hours,  and  of  studies  to  which  I  had  fondly 
looked  for  fuller  and  better  results.  The  extensive 
plans  which  I  had  once  formed  for  a  history  of  Italy 
may,  perhaps,  never  be  accomplished.  The  partial  loss 
of  sight  and  the  want  of  books  are  serious  obstacles  in 
an  undertaking  which  requires  a  full  command  of  both. 
But  though  I  would  not  willingly  renounce  my  hopes  of 
the  future,  yet  with  such  reasons  for  looking  towards  it 
doubtfully,  I  may  not,  perhaps,  be  held  altogether  inex- 
cusable for  clinging  so  tenaciously  to  the  past.  There 
is  always  some  strength  to  be  drawn  from  early  associa- 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

tions,  and  memory  may  sometimes  be  taught  to  supply 
the  place  of  hope. 

The  last  paper  in  this  volume  was  never  published 
before.  The  others  have  appeared  at  long  intervals  in 
the  North  American  Review.  When  I  first  ventured  to 
treat  these  subjects  most  of  them  were  comparatively 
new  in  our  periodical  literature,  and  though  more  or  less 
has  been  written  upon  them  since,  I  have,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  verbal  corrections  and  a  few  additions 
to  the  papers  on  Petrarch  and  Verrazzano,  allowed  them 
to  stand  as  I  first  printed  them.  There  is  little  to  be 
gained  by  recasting  materials  like  these,  and  if  unity  of 
thought  should  be  found  wanting  in  the  first  sketch,  no 
subsequent  efforts  will  ever  atone  for  the  deficiency. 
The  article  on  Libraries  was,  I  believe,  one  of  the  earli- 
est efforts  to  call  the  attention  of  our  countrymen  to 
this  important  subject.  It  was  written  at  the  suggestion 
of  the  late  Richard  Henry  Wilde,  and  I  have  given  it  a 
place  in  this  volume  as  a  tribute  to  one  who  long  en- 
couraged me  by  his  example,  who  cheered  me  by  his 
friendship,  and  whose  memory  will  ever  be  associated 
with  that  of  the  best  and  brightest  days  of  my  life. 

The  "Hopes  of  Italy"  was  written  in  1847,  imme- 
diately after  my  return  to  the  United  States.  Subse- 
quent events  seemed  to  call  for  a  few  additional  expla- 
nations, and  these  I  have  attempted  to  give  in  a  supple- 
mentary paper.     It  is  not  without  serious    misgivings 


PREFACE.  IX 


that  I  venture  to  publish  this  hasty  outline  of  a  great 
movement,  upon  which  it  would  be  easier  to  write  a 
volume  than  an  essay.  But  the  subject  is  one  upon 
which  I  feel  too  deeply  to  be  silent,  and  I  was  unwill- 
ing to  let  the  occasion  pass  without  saying  at  least  one 
word  for  the  vanquished,  and  recording,  at  this  moment 
of  despondency  and  doubt,  my  unwavering  confidence 
in  the  final  triumph  of  freedom. 

Brown  University,  January  19,  1850. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE. 


Petrarch, I 

Machiavelli, 46 

Reformation  in  Italy, 82 


Italian  Literature  in  the  first  hale  op  the  Nine- 
teenth Century, 120 


Manzoni, 171 

The  Hopes  op  Italy, .        208 

Historical  Romance  in  Italy,        .........  253 

Libraries, 277 

Verrazzano, .        .        .323 


Xll  TABLE    OF   CONTENTS. 

Charles  Edward, 353 

Supplement  to  the  Hopes  of  Italy, 436 

Contributions  for  the  Pope, 463 


PETRARC   I.- 


Fraunceis  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete, 
Highte  this  clerk,  whos  rhethorike  swete 

Enlumined  all  Itaille  of  poetrie . 

Clerke's  prologue. 

quel  dolee  di  Calliope  labbro 

Che  Amore,  in  Grecia  nudo  e  nudo  in  Roma, 
D'un  velo  candidissimo  adornando, 
Rendea  nel  grembo  a  venere  celeste. 

Foscolo  I  Sepolcri. 

The  political  state  of  Italy  during  the  early  part  of  the 
middle  ages,  although  highly  favorable  to  the  development  of 
mind,  offered  no  advantages  for  secluded  study*  The  war  of 
the  Investitures  had  been  closely  followed  by  the  invasion  of 
Frederic  Barbarossa,  and  the  war  of  the  league  of  Lombardy. 
It  was  during  this  last,  that  the  minds  of  the  Italians,  actively 
engaged  in  the  defence  of  their  rights,  received  an  impulse 
and  development,  whose  influence  continued  long  after  the 
freedom  in  which  they  originated  had  been  madly  sacrificed. 
But  these  exertions  were  accompanied  by  scenes  of  horror, 

*  Francisci  Petrarchse  Plorentini,  Philosophi,  Oratoris  et  Poetae  cla- 
rissimi,  reflorescentis  literaturae,  Latinseque  Linguae,  aliquot  Seculis 
horrenda  Barbarie  inquinatae  ac  pene  sepultae,  Assertoris  et  Instaurato- 
ris,  Opera  quae  extant  omnia,  etc.  etc.  Basileae,  per  Sebastianum  Hen- 
richetri. 

1 


2  PETRARCH. 

which  chill  the  blood  even  at  the  distance  of  seven  centuries ; 
and  the  domestic  life  of  the  leading  men  of  those  times  pre- 
sents a  picture  of  which  we,  surrounded  by  all  the  delicacies 
and  comforts  and  securities  of  a  maturer  civilization,  can  form 
no  adequate  idea.  * 

Still  the  literary  spirit  of  the  age  continued  its  train  of  con- 
stant, though  slow  advancement.  The  love  of  study  spread 
by  degress  from  the  convent  to  the  court,  and  at  length  pene- 
trated the  retirement  of  domestic  life.  Amid  the  exciting 
cares  of  conquest,  and  even  in  the  gloom  of  a  prison,  princes 
sought  relief  or  relaxation  in  the  cultivation  of  science ;  and 
private  individuals,  borne  away  by  the  same  enthusiasm,  ne- 
glected their  more  lucrative  professions,  for  the  enjoyment  of 
intellectual  pursuits,  f 

The  human  mind  seems  at  first  to  have  assumed  a  new  form 
of  conception,  and  the  poetry  which  could  not  find  full  and 
permanent  expression  in  the  rude  phrases  of  an  unformed 
dialect,  embodied  its  conceptions  in  the  beautiful  and  sublime 
of  a  noble  architecture.  Then  arose  the  daring  dome,  the 
frowning  battlement,  the  dark  pile  of  the  cathedral,  in  which 
wild  imagination  and  bold  design  mark  out  so  clearly  the  epoch 
of  their  formation. } 

*  Among  the  protectors  of  literature  during  the  fourteenth  century, 
we  find  men  not  less  remarkable  for  their  vices  than  for  their  ambition 
So  that  the  zeal  which  they  displayed,  seems  to  have  proceeded  more 
directly  from  their  love  of  magnificence,  than  from  their  love  of  letters ; 
a  proof,  however,  of  the  general  esteem  in  which  literature  was  held. 

t  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  is  related  in  one  of  Petrarch's  letter^ 
V.  Mem.  pour  la  Vie  de  Petrarque,  Tom.  ii.  p.  486.  ap.  Tirab. 

X  V.  Histoire  Litteraire  de  la  France,  Vol.  XVI.  Discours  sur  l'6t.at 
des  Beaux  Arts  au  treizieme  siecle. 


PETRARCH.  6 

The  poetry  of  language  soon  followed  and  lingered  for  a 
time  in  the  song  of  the  Troubadours,  and  the  minstrels  of  Sicily. 
Then  suddenly  passing  into  the  nobler  tongue  of  Tuscany,  it 
became  once  more  the  language  of  nature,  the  expression  of 
the  overflowing  feelings  of  the  heart,  the  embodying  of  the 
bright  and  glowing  forms  that  float  before  the  eye  of  fancy. 
Foremost  in  the  train  we  meet  the  daring  genius  of  Dante,  and 
the  tones  of  his  lyre  have  hardly  died  upon  our  ear,  when  we 
catch  the  soft  strain  of  the  lute  of  Petrarch. 

The  defeat  of  the  Bianchi  party  of  Florence  in  1302  was 
followed  by  the  banishment  of  its  leading  members.  *  Among 
these  were  Dante  and  the  father  of  Petrarch.  For  a  long 
time  they  indulged  the  hope  of  a  recall,  and  they  seem  to  have 
first  sought  a  refuge  in  the  vicinity  of  Florence,  either  with  a 
view  to  assist  the  efforts  of  their  friends,  or  to  avail  themselves 
of  them,  if  successful.  It  was  probably  this  circumstance 
which  led  them  to  Arezzo,  and  it  was  here  that  Petrarch  was 
born  in  the  second  year  of  his  father's  exile.  On  the  very 
night  of  his  birth,  the  banished  party  attempted  to  force  an 
entrance  into  Florence.  The  effort  failed,  and  so  far  from  in- 
creasing their  chances  of  return,  it  completely  alienated  the 
affections  of  their  few  remaining  friends.  Still  the  father  of 
Petrarch  lingered  around  Florence  with  all  an  exile's  fond- 

*  V.  Tirab.  Vol.  V.  p.  443.  et  seq. 

Petrarch  de  orig.  et  vit.  passim. 

Squarzafichi,  vit.  Fr.  Petrar.  Petr.  oper.  edit.  Basl. 

Mem.  de  l'Academie  des  Inscriptions,  Vol.  XV.  p.  746.  et  seq.  XVII. 
390.  et  seq. 

Besides  there  professsd  biographies,  there  are  many  highly  interestiin 
facts  scattered  through  the  letters  of  Petrarch  and  some  in  his  Dial.  * 
Cont,  Mund.  and  in  other  parts  of  his  works. 


4  PETRARCH. 

ness,  and  it  was  not  until  the  bitter  experience  of  seven  years 
had  forced  upon  his  conviction  the  vanity  of  his  hopes,  that 
he  was  able  to  tear  himself  from  his  native  land.     He  then 
retired  to  Avignon,  where  the  residence  of  the  Papal  Court 
had  drawn  immense  crowds  of  the  ambitious  or  discontented 
of  Italy.     He  there  engaged  in  the  profession  which  he  had 
originally  pursued  in  Florence;  and,  unable  to  educate  his  so* 
in  the  crowded  city  of  Avignon,  he  placed  him  at  the  school  o1 
Carpentras,  a  small  town  in  its  neighborhood.    Petrarch  here 
not  only  followed  the  usual  course  of  elementary  studies,  but 
soon  completing  his  grammar  and  rhetoric,  advanced  to  the 
higher  classes  of  Latin.    His  fondness  for  study  and  readiness 
in  learning  led  his  friends  to  form  great  expectations  of  his 
success,  and,  accordingly,  as  soon  as  his  age  would  permit,  his 
attention  was  directed  to  the  study  of  law,  as  the  surest  path 
to  wealth  and  honor.    But  fortunately  for  posterity,  Petrarch 
had  already  acquired  too  strong  and  decided  a  taste  for  polite 
letters,  to  permit  his  mind  to  engage  with  any  degree  of 
pleasure  in  the  subtle  distinctions  of  the  codes.  *     It  was  not 
surprising,  therefore,  that  although  placed  first  at  the  school 
of  Montpelier,  then  at  that  of  Bologna,  and  allured  by  some 
interesting  points  in  the  study  itself,  he  should  view  it  with 
aversion,  and  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  quitting  it  forever. 
The  death  of  his  father,  which  is  placed  by  some  writers  about 
the  year  1326,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  immediate  cause 
of  his  return  to  Avignon ;  and  there,  having  no  guide  but  his 

*  One  of  his  biographers  attributes  this  passion  to  an  emulation  ex- 
cited by  the  writings  of  Dante,  which  were  then  beginning  to  attract  the 
notice  of  the  learned.  —  Squarzafichi,  vit.  Petr.  p.  2. 


PETRARCH.  0 

own  inclination,  he  abandoned  every  study  for  his  favorite 
pursuits.  But  unhappily  for  the  freedom  of  his  choice,  his 
small  inheritance  had  been  shamefully  wasted  by  his  father's 
executors,  and  he  soon  found  it  necessary  to  direct  his  thoughts 
to  some  additional  source  of  revenue.  With  this  view  he 
assumed  the  clerical  robe.  But  the  path  of  ecclesiastical 
honors  was  hardly  more  attractive  to  his  gentle  spirit  than 
that  of  the  law,  and  although  he  enjoyed  the  protection  of 
the  Colonnas,  he  never  advanced  far  in  the  dignities  of  the 
church. 

This  portion  of  Petrarch's  career  has  been  enlarged  upon 
by  all  who  have  undertaken  his  history ;  and  some  of  his 
biographers  seem  to  have  believed  that  the  passion  for  Laura 
was  almost  the  only  important  event  of  his  life.  In  one  point 
of  view  it  is  undoubtedly  interesting ;  for  it  exerted  a  power- 
ful influence  over  his  tastes  and  character,  and  gave  rise  to  the 
Italian  poems  by  which  he  is  chiefly  known.  It  is  difficult  to 
conceive  the  warmth  and  constancy  of  this  passion,  and  were 
there  no  other  evidence  of  its  reality,  than  the  testimony  of 
his  verses,  we  could  almost  pardon  those  who  view  it  as  a 
poetic  fiction.  But  the  same  tone  of  feeling  which  character- 
izes the  Canzoniere,  extends  to  his  letters  and  dialogues,  and 
a  large  portion  of  his  other  works.  We  have  not  at  present 
any  means  of  ascertaining  with  what  feelings  he  first  met  its 
approach.  But  he  was  not  long  in  perceiving  that  it  was 
destined  to  prove  destructive  of  his  peace  ;  and  the  unsettled 
state  of  his  mind,  the  alternate  mixture  of  hope  and  fear 
by  which  he  was  constantly  tormented,  are  evident  as 
much  from  the  manner  of  his  life,  as  from  the  tone  of  his 

1* 


6  PETRARCH. 

verses.*  It  was  not,  however,  by  a  weak  abandonment  of  his 
duties  that  the  power  of  his  passion  was  manifested,  for  he 
pursued  his  studies  and  continued  the  cultivation  of  his  mind 
with  unrelaxing  industry.  But  the  constant  change  of  resi- 
dence, the  frequent  attempts  to  tear  himself  from  Avignon, 
where,  however,  he  constantly  returned,  the  tender  strain  of 
thought  which  ran  through  all  his  writings,  were  clear  indica- 
tions of  a  "  heart  ill  at  ease." 

The  first  of  his  tours  was  made  in  company  with  his  friend 
and  patron  James  Colonna,  to  the  Bishopric  of  Lombes.  t 
After  passing  a  summer  in  that  place,  where  the  solitude  of 
the  situation  was  enlivened  by  the  society  of  his  friends  Lelius 
and  Socrates,  he  again  returned  to  Avignon.  There  he  re- 
mained tranquil  for  nearly  three  years,  eagerly  embracing 
every  occasion  to  extend  his  information,  not  only  by  means  of 
books,  but  of  the  society  that  was  constantly  gathered  around 
his  patron.      He  thus  became  acquainted  with  Richard  of 

*  Readers  who  are  desirous  of  re-examining  this  oft-examined  question, 
will  find  one  of  the  prevalent  opinions  strongly  supported  in  the  Mem. 
de  l'Acad.  cited  above.  In  another,  (we  believe  the  16th  vol.  of  the 
same  work,)  the  opinion  of  the  Abbe  de  Sade  is  supported  in  a  very  in- 
genious essay  upon  Laura.  The  Abbe's  opinion  (v.  Mem.  pour  la 
Vie  de  Petrarque)  has  been  adopted  by  Tiraboschi  and  other  cele- 
brated critics.  But  early  in  the  present  century  it  was  violently  attacked 
by  Lord  Woodhouselee.  We  have  not  been  able  to  procure  his  essay, 
but  from  a  few  extracts  that  we  have  seen,  we  should  suppose  that  his 
lordship  knew  more  of  the  spirit  of  Petrarch,  than  of  that  of  Petrarch's 
age. 

t  It  has  been  asserted  that  it  was  during  this  tour  that  Petrarch  first 
became  acquainted  with  the  Provencal  poetry;  but  his  long  residence  in 
a  part  of  France  not  far  distant  from  the  seat  of  Provencal  literature, 
could  hardly  have  left  him  in  ignorance  of  a  poetry  that  had  already 
spread  throughout  Italy  itself. 


PETRARCH.  7 

Bury,  tutor  and  ambassador  of  Edward  III.,  and  with  many- 
other  distinguished  men,  whose  correspondence  long  contin- 
ued to  form  one  of  his  greatest  pleasures.  The  conver- 
sation of  these  friends  may  perhaps  have  concurred  with 
the  unsettled  state  of  his  mind  in  forming  a  taste  for  travel- 
ling, which  nothing  but  the  infirmities  of  old  age  could  ever 
overcome. 

About  three  years  after  his  return  from  Lombes,  he  made  a 
tour  through  the  north  of  France,  the  Netherlands,  and  along 
the  Rhine,  and  while  absent  communicated  to  his  friends  the 
course  and  events  of  this  journey,  in  letters  which  now  form 
one  of  the  most  interesting  portions  of  his  correspondence.  * 
He  next  directed  his  steps  towards  Italy,  and  the  true  feeling 
of  Italian  pride  breaks  out  in  the  delight  with  which  he  says, 
that  wherever  he  wandered  and  whatever  he  saw,  he  found 
nothing  to  make  him  ashamed  of  his  native  land.  For  a  time 
his  passion  for  travelling  was  satisfied,  and,  purchasing  a 
small  cottage  at  Vaucluse,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Avignon,  he 
arranged  his  library  there,  and  established  himself  in  that 
solitude. 

He  now  engaged  in  his  studies  with  the  ardor  of  youth. 
He  was  at  a  distance  from  the  world,  and  received  no  inter- 
ruptions from  the  cares  of  society,  while  the  monotony  of 
solitude  was  cheered  by  the  occasional  visits  of  his  friends. 
Every  hour  was  a  succession  of  delightful  occupations.  He 
turned  from  the  grave  composition  of  his  moral  treatises,  to 
study  his  eclogues  or  epistles.  The  retirement  of  the  closet 
was  relieved  by  the  fresh  air  of  the  valley,  and  the  thousand 

*  V.  Famil.Lib.  I.ep.  3,  4.' 


8  PETRARCH. 

thoughts  and  images,  that  rose  from  his  peculiar  situation, 
and  from  the  sweet  aspect  that  nature  wore  around  him, 
were  recorded  upon  his  tablets,  and  at  length  formed  into  the 
tender  verses  of  the  Canzoniere.  Here  he  composed  the 
greatest  part  of  his  early  sonnets  and  odes.  Many  of  his  let- 
ters were  written  from  here,  and  beside  the  Latin  dialogues 
and  moral  treatises,  he  here  commenced  his  great  epic,  the 
poem  of  Africa.  * 

Thus  far  the  reputation  of  Petrarch,  although  not  confined 
to  the  immediate  circle  of  his  friends,  had  been  an  indefinite 
expectation  of  future  excellence,  rather  than  the  fruit  of  some 
superior  production.  For  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
sonnets  and  odes  by  which  he  is  chiefly  known  in  modern 
times,  were  but  little  esteemed  by  the  grave  and  learned  of  the 
age  for  which  he  wrote.  Not  so  with  the  younger  portion  of 
society,  and  especially  with  those  who  felt,  or  wished  to  feel, 

*  The  letter  from  which  we  obtain  these  facts  was  written  in  reply 
to  a  friend,  who  had  attempted  to  dissuade  him  from  returning  to 
Vaucluse. 

After  several  observations,  he  adds  the  following :  —  Quod  idcirco 
dixerim,  ne  quis  dubitet,  me  illius  rus  non  spernere,  quod  mihi,  meisque 
rebus  aptissimum  semper  inveni,  ubi  saepe  curas  urbanas,  rustica  requie 
permutavi,  quod  non  tantum  electione  ipsa,  sed  agrestibus  muris  et  (ut 
spero)  solidiore  cemento,  verbis  atque  carminibus  illustrare  pro  viribus 
studui.  Illic,  juvat  enim  meminisse,  Africam  meam  ccepi,  tanto  impetu, 
tantoque  nisu  animi,  ut  nunc  limam  per  eadem  referens  vestigia,  ipse 
meam  audaciam  et  magna  operis  fundamenta,  quodammodo,  perhorres- 
cam.  Illic  et  epistolarum  utriusque  styli,  partem  non  exiguam  et  pene 
totum  Bucolicum  carmen  absolvi,  quam  brevi  dierum  spatio  si  noris, 
stupeas. — Fam.  Lib.  VIII.  ep.  3. 

Another  writer  goes  still  further:  —  Illic  denique  quicquid  fere  omni 
aetate  composuit  aut  praefecit  aut  incepit,  aut  scribere  cogitavit,  eo  fuit 
in  loco. —  Vergerius  apud  Squarzaf.  p.  3. 


PETRARCH.  9 

the  passion  which  he  has  so  truly  depicted.  They  were  also 
spreading  rapidly  through  the  lower  classes,  changing,  it  is 
true,  and  losing  a  part  of  their  original  polish  and  beauty,  as 
they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  among  a  rude  peasantry,  but 
silently  forming  for  their  author  that  far-spread  and  flattering 
reputation,  which  seems  to  be  the  peculiar  lot  of  Italian  and 
Grecian  poets. 

But  the  poem  of  Africa,  in  which  he  was  engaged,  raised 
the  expectation  of  his  contemporaries  to  the  highest  pitch,  and 
upon  this  he  also  for  a  long  time  placed  his  hopes  of  permanent 
reputation.  The  first  verses  were  hardly  known,  when  the 
attention  of  the  learned,  and  of  the  patrons  of  learning,  be- 
came wholly  directed  to  the  valley  of  Vaucluse,  *  and  long 
before  the  work  was  completed,  the  Senate  of  Rome  sent 
him  an  invitation  to  receive  the  laurel  crown  upon  the  Capitol. 
While  he  was  yet  agitated  by  the  joy  of  this  unexpected  hon- 
or, a  letter  from  a  friend  in  Paris  urged  him  to  accept  the  same 
high  reward  from  the  university  of  that  city.  He  hesitated 
for  some  time  between  these  two  invitations,  but  the  advice  of 
his  friend  Colonna  concurring  with  his  own  veneration  for  the 
Roman  name,  at  length  decided  him  in  favor  of  the  former,  f 

*  The  wonder  and  admiration,  which  the  mere  intention  of  writing  a 
poem  excited  among  the  scholars  of  that  age,  will  seem  strange  to  an 
age  like  ours,  so  well  accustomed  to  the  appearance  of  heroics,  that 
number  volumes  instead  of  books.  But  according  to  Tiraboschi,  this 
was  not  the  case  with  our  unfortunate  forefathers.  —  Unpoema,  says  he, 
a  quell'  eta.  era  una  cosa  si  rara  che  doveva  destare  ammirazione  verso 
l'autore  in  chiunque  udivane  il  nome.  Quindi  appena  ne  corse  la  fama 
mentre  Petrarca  non  aveane  fatta  che  piccola  parte,  e  appena  vedute  le 
altre  Latine  poesie  da  lui  composte,  egli  divenne  l'oggetto  dell'  universale 
maraviglia  e  per  poco  non  fu  creduto  un  uomo  divino. 

t  Op.  Tom.  III.  p.  3.     Tirab.  V.  p.  455. 


'UFIVBRSITYJi 


10  PETRARCH. 

It  was  a  glorious  moment,  not  for  him  alone,  but  for  the 
literature,  the  genius  of  all  ages,  when  the  Roman  Senate, 
renewing  for  a  moment  its  long  associations  with  all  that  is 
noble  in  genius  or  daring  in  enterprise,  placed  the  wreath  of 
laurel  upon  the  brow  of  Petrarch.  The  dark  clouds  which 
hung  so  thickly  over  the  moral  and  political  horizon,  seemed 
for  an  instant  to  break  away,  and  the  shout  of  the  thousands 
who  crowded  around  the  Capitol,  and  filled  the  avenues  of  the 
Forum,  might  have  seemed  the  voice  of  reviving  Rome :  re- 
viving, not  to  roll  the  dripping  wheels  of  the  triumphal  car 
along  the  steep  of  the  Capitol ;  not  to  suspend  a  new  shield 
or  lance  at  the  shrine  of  Capitolinus ;  but  to  place  upon  the 
bloodless  brow  of  genius  the  reward  of  victories,  gained  in  the 
pure  field  of  intellectual  exertion,  over  the  ignorance  and 
wildness  of  a  barbarous  age. 

From  this  time  Petrarch  resided  more  constantly  in  Italy. 
His  reputation  procured  him  the  friendship  of  princes  and  re- 
publics, as  well  as  of  men  of  letters.*  There  was  hardly  a 
court  that  did  not  seek  to  allure  him  by  the  most  favorable 
offers.  The  republic  of  Florence  endeavored  to  engage  him 
in  her  new  university  by  the  proffer  of  any  chair  that  he  might 
deign  to  fill ;  the  Emperor  Charles  IV.  favored  him  with  his 
correspondence,  and  sought  to  establish  him  at  his  court.  He 
was  invited  by  Innocent  VI.  to  become  apostolic  secretary, 
a  post  to  which  he  had  been  previously  called  by  Clement  VI. 
This  pontiff  had  also  held  out  for  him  the  additional  allure- 
ments of  ecclesiastical  advancement.  But,  too  fond  of  his 
freedom  to  submit  to  the  confinement  of  public  employment, 
*  V.  Tiraboschi,  Vol.  V.    Lib.  I.  cap.  2,  passim. 


PETRARCH.  11 

he  passed  from  city  to  city,  and  from  court  to  court,  —  now 
simply  seeking  to  gratify  his  private  attachment,  and  now 
charged  with  the  embassy  of  some  Italian  prince.*  Twice  he 
attempted  to  act  as  mediator  between  the  rival  republics  of 
Genoa  and  Venice;  he  averted  the  impending  wrath  of 
Charles  IV.  from  his  friend  and  protector  the  Visconti,  and  by 
his  eloquent  expostulations,  he  partly  prevailed  upon  one  pon- 
tiff to  remove  the  papal  chair  to  Rome,  and  contributed  pow- 
erfully to  prepare  the  mind  of  another  for  the  same  change. 
Were  we  to  follow  his  history  through  all  the  details  of  this 
period,  we  should  be  led  from  court  to  court,  we  should  be 
obliged  to  enumerate  all  the  literary  enterprises  of  the  age,  the 
search  and  restoration  of  ancient  manuscripts,  the  spread  and 
cultivation  of  Greek  letters,  the  introduction  of  pure  taste  into 
the  study  of  antiquity,  the  application  of  reason  and  criticism 
to  the  examination  of  ancient  monuments,  and  descending  to 
minuter  details,  the  history  of  many  inferior  undertakings,  of 
which  he  was  the  origin  and  the  soul.  We  must,  however, 
confine  ourselves  for  the  present  to  a  single  anecdote,  which 
illustrates  in  a  very  forcible  manner,  the  estimation  in  which 
Petrarch  was  held  by  his  contemporaries.! 

While  he  was  receiving  his  public  examination  at  the  court 

*  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  many  of  the  principal  Italian  scholars 
were  employed  in  the  most  important  embassies.  Without  counting 
Machiavelli,  who  was  a  professed  politician,  Dante  alone  is  said  to  have 
been  fourteen  times  ambassador. 

t  There  is  a  curious  statement  in  a  letter  of  Petrarch,  written  in  reply 
to  the  invitation  to  become  Secretary  to  Innocent  VI.,  by  which  we 
learn  that  while  he  received  almost  divine  honors  from  some,  he  was 
thought  little  better  than  a  magician  by  others.  Vid.  Rer.  Sen.  L.  I. 
Ep.  3. 


12  PETRARCH. 

of  King  Robert  of  Naples,  a  school-master  of  Pontremoli,  blind 
and  enfeebled  by  age,  hastened  to  Naples  in  order  to  see  him. 
Petrarch  had  already  started  for  Rome,  but  the  report  of  so 
extraordinary  an  occurrence  spread  rapidly  through  the  city, 
and  soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  king.     It  was  natural  that  so 
great  a  lover  of  letters  should  be  struck  with  this  burst  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  after  having   received  a  confirmation  of  the 
story  from  the  lips  of  the  old  man  himself,  he  supplied  him 
with  some  conveniences  for  his  journey,  and  urged  him  to 
hasten  towards  Rome,  where  he  might,  perhaps,  be  in  time  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity.     But  here  also,  the  poor  old  man  was  too 
late,  for  Petrarch  had  already  started  for  France.     He  re- 
turned to  Pontremoli  almost  broken-hearted  with  his  disap- 
pointment, but  had  hardly  reached  home,  when  he  was  told 
that  Petrarch,  instead  of  returning  to  Avignon,  had  stopped  at 
Parma.     Not  discouraged  by  his  former  disappointment  he 
again  set  out  to  seek  him,  and  crossing  the  Apennines  through 
snow  and  cold,  with  no  support  but  the  arm  of  his  son,  and  of 
one  of  his  scholars,  he  at  length  reached  the  house  in  which 
Petrarch  was  lodged.     It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
rapture  with  which  he  embraced  him,  listening  with  ecstasy  to 
every  word  that  he  uttered,  and  alternately  kissing  the  hand 
that  had  written,  and  the  head  that  had  composed  such  noble 
verses.*     After  having  passed  three  days  in  the  enjoyment 


*  Etquotiens  puta.«,  seel  quid  loquor,  praesens  rebus  intereras,  quotiens 
filii  et  discipuli  alterius,  quo  pro  rilio  et  quibus  ambobus  pro  vehiculo 
utebatur,  manibus  sublatis.  meum  caput  osculatus  est,  quo  ilia  cogitas- 
sem,  quotiens  bane  dexteram  qua  ilia  seripsissem,  quibus  se  diceret 
vehementissime  deleetatum.    Her.  Sen.  ut  sup. 


PETRARCH.  13 

of  his  society,  the  old  man  returned  home  joyful  and  con- 
tented.* 

The  mind  of  Petrarch  had  always  been  open  to  religious 
impressions,  and  even  in  the  earlier  periods  of  his  attachment 
to  Laura,  he  seems  to  have  sought  relief  from  his  sorrows  in 
the  offices  of  devotion.  As  he  advanced  in  age  this  feeling  con- 
tinued to  gain  strength,  and  many  letters,  composed  during  the 
last  years  of  his  life,  bear  witness  to  the  resigned  and  tranquil 
mind  with  which  he  viewed  the  approach  of  death.  His 
studies  at  this  period  were  divided  between  the  Greek  and 
Roman  classics,  and  the  works  of  the  fathers  ;  for  his  strong 
mind,  while  deeply  impressed  with  the  truths  of  religion,  was 
raised  far  above  the  narrow  bigotry  which  can  see  no  traces 
of  its  Maker  in  the  productions  of  a  Pagan.  His  application 
to  study  was  never  relaxed  while  he  had  strength  to  bear  the 
exertion.  To  borrow  his  own  words,  he  hastened  his  steps  as  / 
he  drew  nearer  to  the  goal,  and  believing  that  much  still  re- 
mained to  be  done,  while  his  increasing  infirmities  reminded 
him,  from  hour  to  hour,  how  small  a  space  remained  for  labor, 
he  allowed  to  sleep  and  relaxation  only  that  time  which  the 
weakness  of  nature  imperiously  demanded.  He  arose  at  mid- 
night, to  pray  and  study,  and  divided  the  day  between  religion 
and  literature.  But  his  debility  and  disease  daily  increased. 
Frequent  fevers  slowly  undermined  his  strength,  and  his  body 
seemed  to  sink  under  him  from  hour  to  hour ;  but  still  his 
mind  grew  brighter  and  brighter,  and  his  imagination  purer 

*  This  anecdote  is  related  by  Petrarch  himself  in  a  letter  to  one  of  his 
friends,  in  which  he  attempts  to  prove  that  the  love  of  letters  does  not 
pass  unrewarded  in  their  age.     Vid.  Rer.  Sen.  Lib.  XV.  ep.  7. 

2 


14  PETRARCH. 

and  purer,  as  sense  faded  within  him.  At  length,  on  the 
morning  of  the  eighteenth  of  July,  1374,  he  was  found  dead 
in  his  study,  seated  in  his  chair,  with  his  head  reposing  as  in 
meditation  upon  the  pages  of  a  book  * 

The  Italian  poems  of  Petrarch  can  never  be  correctly  es- 
I  timated,  until  some  poet  shall  arise,  who,  possessing  the  same 
depth  and  purity  of  feeling,  can  transfuse  into  the  most  har- 
monious form  of  his  native  language,  the  grace  and  sweetness 
of  the  original  verses.  Until  then,  the  enjoyment  of  the  Can- 
zoniere  must  be  confined  to  the  native  Italian,  and  to  the  few 
who  enter  enough  into  the  spirit  of  the  language,  to  catch  the 
feeling  of  the  original  as  well  as  its  sense.  The  perfect  sim- 
plicity and  pure  nature  of  its  imagery,  the  variety  and  rich- 
ness of  its  diction,  and  the  arrangement  and  structure  of  the 
verse,  corresponding  so  fully  to  the  general  character  of  each 
piece,  —  now  moving  with  pensive  gravity,  now  chiming  to 
the  brisk  flow  of  gayer  thoughts,  like  music,  that  harmonizes 
by  its  measure  to  the  feelings  that  its  tones  have  awakened,  — 
these  are  beauties  which  must  escape  the  observation  of  the 
early  scholar.  But  every  step  in  the  language  brings  him 
nearer  to  their  spirit.  Beauties  insensibly  arise  where  he 
had  thought  all  was  vain  expression,  truth  of  feeling  breaks 
forth  from  passages  that  at  first  seemed  stiff  and  artificial, 
until,  losing  sight  of  the  book  and  the  writer  in  the  thrilling 
responses  of  his  own  heart,  he  is  borne  irresistibly  onward 
by  the  flow  of  the  thoughts  and  of  the  verse  that  embodies  them. 

*  A  very  good  account  of  Arqua,  where  the  house  of  Petrarch,  the 
chair  in  which  he  died  and  several  other  relics  are  preserved,  may  be 
found  in  the  notes  to  the  fourth  Canto  of  Childe  Harold. 


PETRARCH.  15 

We  have  already  observed,  that  the  value  which  Petrarch 
and  his  contemporaries  attached  to  the  Canzoniere,  was  far 
from  that  enthusiastic  admiration  with  which  it  has  been  com- 
mented on  and  studied  by  posterity.  And  this  arose,  not  so 
much  from  their  insensibility  to  its  beauties,  as  from  their  ex- 
clusive admiration  of  the  manner  of  the  old  classics.  His 
odes  and  sonnets  were  regarded  as  the  light,  although  elegant 
relaxations,  in  which  a  scholar  might  unbend  his  mind  without 
derogating  too  far  from  the  dignity  of  his  profession,  while  his 
claims  to  the  admiration  of  posterity  were  supposed  to  rest 
almost  exclusively  upon  his  Latin  works.*  But  this  very 
circumstance  may  have  contributed  to  the  real  excellence  of 
the  former.  For  although  the  one  was  labored  with  greater 
care  and  formed  after  the  pure  models  of  antiquity,  the  others 
have  caught  the  real  movements  of  his  heart  more  truly, 
and  breathe  an  unlabored  and  almost  involuntary  sweetness ; 
as  the  harp,  when  touched  by  the  passing  breeze,  will  utter 
tones  of  unearthly  minstrelsy,  which  the  most  perfect  science 
can  never  draw  forth. 

The  amatory  portion  of  the  Canzoniere  possesses  two  dis- 
tinct characters.  During  the  life-time  of  Laura,  the  poet's 
mind  has  a  gayer  or  rather  brighter  range  of  imagery.     The 

*  But  Petrarch  himself  seems,  at  a  later  date,  to  have  perceived  and 
acknowledged  the  superiority  of  his  Italian  poems  over  all  his  other 
works.  —  Paulas  Vergerius  scribit  habuisse  a  Calutio  Salviato,  qui  dice- 
bat  ab  ipso  Petrarcha  audivisse,  melius  se  omnia  quae  scripserat  factu- 
rum  praeter  ejus  in  lingua  vernacula  scripta,  ubi  ingenue  fatebatur  seip- 
sum  in  illis  vicisse.     Verger,  apud  Squarzaf. 

And  in  one  of  his  own  sonnets  Petrarch  says,  that  had  he  believed  his 
poems  would  prove  so  acceptable,  he  would  have  increased  their  number 
and  given  more  polish  to  the  style.     Sonn.  253, 2d  part. 


1 6  PETRARCH. 

charms  of  her  person  float  constantly  before  him.  Her  "  loved 
idea "  is  mixed  with  every  object,  from  the  soft  hue  of  the 
evening  sky,  to  the  deep  brown  of  the  rustling  forest,  from  the 
gale  that  fans  his  feverish  brow,  to  the  stream  that  lulls  by  its 
gentle  murmurings.  All  the  varying  emotions  of  his  soul  are 
fully  recorded.*  We  now  find  him  flushed  with  joy  at  some 
simple  mark  of  favor,  now  deeply  dejected  by  some  act  of 
unusual  harshness.  At  times  he  laments  the  fatal  destiny  that 
has  condemned  him  to  days  of  hopeless  complaint,  to  nights 
of  watchful  agony.  At  others  he  seems  to  rejoice  in  his  chains, 
and  although  fully  sensible  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  passion, 
to  cherish  with  anxious  solicitude  the  flame  that  feeds  it.  And 
throughout  the  course  of  these  feelings,  the  flow  of  the  verse 
chimes  sweetly  to  the  thoughts  they  record;  moving  like  mu- 
sic at  night  amid  the  stillness  of  some  lonely  lake,  now  float- 
ing softly  over  the  unrippled  water,  now  lost  amid  the  rush  of 
the  rising  breeze,  now  broken  by  the  voice  of  the  awakened 
echoes. 

Laura  dies ;  and  here  the  tone  of  his  sorrow  is  changed. 
She  is  no  longer  an  earthly  beauty,  whom  he  can  hope  to  bend 
by  his  tears,  but  a  spirit  of  heaven,  who  has  wiped  away  the 
dross  of  earthly  passion,  but  still  cherishes  that  pure  affection 

*  Itaque  per  os  meum  flamraa  cordis  erumpens,  miserabili  sed  (ut 
quidam  dixerunt)  dulci  murmure  valles,  ccelumque  complebat.  Hinc 
ilia  vulgaria  juvenilium  laborura  meorum  cantica,  quorum  hodie  pudet 
ac  poenitet,  sed  eodem  morbo  affectis  (ut  videmus)  acceptissima.  Fam. 
Lib.  VIII.  ep.  3. 

E  certo  ogni  mio  studio  in  quel  temp'era 
Pur  di  sfogare  il  doloroso  core 
In  qualche  raodo. 

Sonnet,  253. 


PETRARCH.  17 

by  which  man  is  sometimes  drawn  back  to  the  image  of  his 
Maker.  She  then  visits  him  in  dreams,  and  amid  the  still 
watches  of  the  night,  rebukes  his  vain  and  sinful  sorrow.  She 
bids  him  weep  for  himself  and  not  for  her ;  she  shows  him  by 
bright  glimpses  of  heaven,  the  inexpressible  bliss  of  the  state 
to  which  she  has  passed,  and  bids  hirn  look  with  anxious  an- 
ticipation for  the  day  in  which  he  may  be  permitted  to  follow. 
I  There  is  something  exceedingly  touching  in  this  communion 
with  the  dead  whom  we  have  loved,  in  this  affection  which 
even  from  heaven  can  look  back  upon  the  sad  footsteps  of 
the  dear  ones  left  behind,  and  cheer  by  friendly  words  and 
soothing  visions  the  grief  which  none  but  itself  can  feel  to  be 
vain.  ^J 

The  style  also  of  the  second  part  seems  to  have  changed  in 
accordance  with  the  feelings  of  the  mourner.  The  movement 
of  the  verse  is  solemn  and  slow ;  a  softer  and  purer  strain  of 
lament  swells  up  from  the  heart ;  we  are  led  to  the  solitary 
grave ;  we  seek  in  vain  for  the  form  that  was  once  so  lovely, 
but  which  is  now  mingled  and  lost  amid  the  common  dust  at 
our  feet ;  at  times  a  voice  from  heaven  breaks  in  upon  the 
stillness  of  night ;  a  heavenward  aspiration  arises  from  the 
lone  and  stricken  soul ;  while  the  imagery,  shaded  with  the 
same  deep  coloring,  softens  and  deepens  and  harmonizes  the 
whole. 

But  these  expressions  of  feeling,  although  beautiful  from 
their  illustrations  and  truth  to  nature,  never  approach  the 
penetrating  analysis  of  the  mind,  which  may  be  found  in 
some  later  schools  of  poetry.  They  are  brought  before  us 
in  a  few  rapid  sketches,  not  drawn  in  the  fulness  of  their  fear- 

2* 


18  PETRARCH. 

ful  reality ;  entwined  around  some  lovely  object  in  nature,  not 
chilling  the  heart  by  their  lonely  despair ;  we  see  the  heaving, 
the  agitation  of  the  waves  on  the  surface,  but  cannot  discover 
the  mighty  arm  that  stirs  them  up  from  the  foundation.  Hence 
we  rise  from  the  Canzoniere,  with  a  soft  tinge  of  tender  mel- 
ancholy, but  never  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  sorrow ;  with 
a  tear  glistening  in  the  eye,  or  stealing  in  silence  down  the 
cheek,  but  never  with  the  heart  wrought  up  to  that  fearful  ex- 
citement, which  follows  the  reading  of  the  Robbers,  the  Cor- 
sair, or  Werther.  In  the  most  touching  complaints  of  Pe- 
trarch we  find,  if  not  a  gleam  of  hope,  at  least,  the  melancholy 
smile  of  resignation ;  the  utterance  of  his  feelings  seems  in  a 
measure  to  relieve  him  from  their  pressure,  and  even  when  he 
calls  upon  death  as  his  only  friend,  we  feel,  that  although  grief 
may  hasten  its  approach,  the  sufferer  will  never  anticipate 
the  blow. 

It  will  be  evident,  even  from  this  imperfect  sketch,  that  the 
chief  merit  of  the  Canzoniere  must  lie  in  the  choice  of  imagery 
and  expression,  and  in  the  adaptation  of  its  verse  to  a  natural 
flow  of  tender  thought.  Elegance  of  expression,  which  is  so 
important  a  part  of  all  poetry,  is  peculiarly  essential  to  lyric 
verse.  The  short  compass  of  an  ode  or  sonnet  will  not  admit 
of  the  compression  of  many  ideas,  much  less  of  their  full  de- 
velopment. It  is  only  by  seizing  some  pleasing  thought,  and 
adapting  to  it  the  embellishment  of  appropriate  imagery,  that 
the  poet  can  fix  our  attention.  However  beautiful  the  leading 
idea,  it  is  far  from  being  the  principal  object  in  the  piece.  It 
is  in  its  connection  with  some  beautiful  object  in  natural  scene- 
ry, with  some  lovely  form  of  the  poet's  fancy,  in  its  power  to 


PETRARCH.  19 

touch  some  hidden  chord  of  our  own  sympathies,  that  the  force 
and  interest  of  the  sonnet  consist.  Hence  it  must  be  the  ex- 
pression of  our  passing  feelings,  flowing  almost  spontaneously 
from  their  own  deep  sources,  taking  its  tone  from  the  impulses 
within,  seldom  exciting  deep  emotions,  but  sometimes  mas- 
tering the  heart,  by  a  few  bold  images  and  vigorous  expres- 
sions. 

The  illustration  of  these  remarks  may  be  found  upon  every 
page  of  the  Canzoniere.  As  far  as  propriety  of  expression 
depends  upon  the  choice  and  arrangement  of  words,  Petrarch 
is  a  remarkable  instance  of  pure  taste.*  Receiving  the  lan- 
guage almost  immediately  from  the  rough  but  vigorous  pen  of 
Dante,  he  contributed  greatly  toward  giving  it  that  sweetness 
and  harmony,  which  have  so  long  been  considered  its  leading 
characteristics.  <  And  there  is  no  fact  more  remarkable  in  the 
whole  compass  of  literary  history,  than  that  scarcely  two  ob- 
solete words  can  be  found  in  his  Italian  poems  ;f  so  truly  did 
he  judge  the  genius  of  his  native  tongue,  and  so  exquisite  was 
the  taste  with  which  he  selected,  arranged  and  polished  its  co- 
pious vocabulary. 

*  It  should  be  remembered  that  the  merit  of  Petrarch  does  not  consist 
simply  in  the  proper  use  of  a  vocabulary,  already  formed  and  fixed  by 
polished  usage,  but  in  the  selection  of  appropriate  expressions,  from  the 
variety  of  an  unsettled  language.  One  proof  of  his  superior  taste  in 
this  respect  is  his  rejecting  the  custom  of  mingling  foreign  words  with 
those  which  are  purely  Italian,  a  custom  universal  among  his  contem- 
poraries and  predecessors  in  the  literary  world.  V.  Crescembeni  della 
Volg.  Poes.  Vol.  I.  p.  363. 

And  though  perhaps  the  tante  is  somewhat  too  strong,  Monti  was 
unquestionably  the  best  judge  of  the  two. 

t  Asserted  by  Denina  Vic.  della  Letterat,  denied  by  Monti.  —  Dial. 
V.  I.  p.  125  —  tante  ne  morirono  del  Boccaccio,  tante  piu  del  Petrarca. 


20  PETRARCH. 

In  judging  of  epithets  and  expressions,  however,  we  should 
always  bear  in  mind  that  this,  of  all  the  beauties  of  speech,  is 
the  most  exposed  to  the  influence  of  time.  A  phrase  may  be 
vigorous  or  beautiful  in  one  age  or  one  country,  from  the  pe- 
culiar circumstances  in  which  it  arose,  while  at  a  short  inter- 
val either  of  time  or  space  its  beauty  becomes  unintelligible, 
or  its  power  is  lost.  True  excellence  of  thought  will  always 
bear  the  rigor  of  critical  examination,  but  many  of  the 
beauties  of  expression  are  strictly  conventional,  and  thus  are 
soon  worn  by  familiar  usage.  Hence  we  pass  over  many  deli- 
cate images  which  the  quick  imagination  of  the  poet  has  con- 
nected with  particular  words,  and  read  with  comparative 
coldness  many  elegant  phrases  which  use  has  made  familiar  to 
our  minds,  although  when  first  employed  in  the  verse  before 
us,  they  shone  with  all  the  freshness  of  youthful  beauty. 

The  Italian  scholar  will  find  a  beautiful  specimen  of  propri- 
ety of  language  combined  with  strength  and  richness  of  dic- 
tion, in  the  ode  supposed  to  have  been  addressed  to  Cola  di 
Rienzi. 

Spirto  gentil  che  quelle  membra  reggi. 

The  same  qualities  will  be  found,  although  in  a  less  degree, 
in  the  following  sonnet.  The  movement  of  the  verse  is  re- 
markably full  and  grave,  corresponding  with  the  loneliness  of 
the  heart  it  so  beautifully  describes. 

Solo  e  pensoso  i  piu  deserti  campi 
Vo  misurando  a  passi  tardi  e  lenti ; 
E  gli  occhi  porto  per  fuggire  intenti 
Dove  vestigio  uman  l'arena  stampi. 


PETRARCH.  21 

Altro  schermo  non  trovo  che  mi  scampi 
Dal  manifesto  accorger  delle  genti, 
Perche  negli  atti  d'allegrezza  spenti, 
Di  fuor  si  legge  com'  io  dentro  avvampi. 

Si  ch'io  mi  credo  omai,  che  monti  e  piagge 
E  fiumi  e  selve  sappian  di  che  tempre 
Sia  la  mia  vita  ch'  e  celata  altrui. 

Ma  pur  si  aspre  vie,  ne  si  selvagge, 
Cercar  non  so,  ch'amor  non  venga  sempre 
llagionando  con  meco  ed  io  con  lui. 

"  Alone  and  pensive,  the  deserted  strand 
I  wander  o'er  with  slow  and  measured  pace, 
And  shun  with  watchful  eye  the  lightest  trace 
Of  human  foot,  imprinted  on  the  sand. 

I  find,  alas !  no  other  resting-place 
From  the  keen  eye  of  man ;  for  in  the  show 
Of  outward  joy,  it  reads  upon  my  face 
The  traces  of  the  flame  that  burns  below. 

And  thus,  at  length,  each  leafy  mount  and  plain, 
Each  wandering  stream  and  shady  forest  know, 
What  others  know  not,  all  my  life  of  pain. 

And  love,  as  through  the  wildest  tracts  I  go, 
Comes  whispering  in  my  ear  his  tender  strain, 
Which  I  with  trembling  lip  repeat  to  him  again." 

The  same  idea  is  finely  enlarged  upon  in  one  of  the  sweet- 
est odes  of  the  Canzoniere.  And  it  may  here  be  observed, 
that  the  longest  of  Petrarch's  pieces  are  generally  the  best. 
His  feelings  seem  to  gather  strength  as  he  warms  with  his 
subject,  and  ideas  which  at  first  rise  coldly  and  singly  in  his 
mind,  flow  onward,  warming  at  every  step,  gathering  new 
strength  from  every  object,  drawing  in  imagery  from  every 


TZ  PETRARCH. 

source,  until  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  writer  himself  seem 
to  roll  on  with  the  full  current  of  collected  thought. 

The  following  verses,  with  which  the  ode  commences,  will 
show  with  what  richness  of  expression  and  imagery  he  gives 
the  charms  of  variety  to  ideas  that  his  own  verses  have  ren- 
dered familiar. 

Di  pensier  in  pensier,  di  monte  in  monte, 
Mi  guida  amor,  ch'ogni  segnato  calle 
Provo  contrario  alia  tranquilla  vita. 

Se'n  solitaria  piaggia  rivo  o  fonte 
Se'n  fra  duo  poggi  siede  ombrosa  valle ; 
Ivi  s'acqueta  Talma  sbigottita : 

E  come  amor  Finvita, 
Or  ride,  or  piange,  or  teme,  or  s'assicura : 
E'l  volto,  eke  lei  segue  ov'ella  il  mena, 
Si  turba  e  rasserena, 
E  in  un  esser  picciol  tempo  dura : 

1  From  thought  to  thought,  from  mount  to  mount, 
Love  guides  me  on ;  each  beaten  way 
From  life's  calm  tenor  leads  astray. 

But  if  I  meet  a  lonely  stream  or  fount, 
Or  'twixt  two  gentle  slopes  a  shady  vale, 
My  troubled  spirit  finds  relief, 
And  there,  obedient  to  its  chief, 
Now  weeps,  now  smiles,  or  hopes  or  trembles  now ; 

While  o'er  my  face,  which  still  her  will  obeys, 
Or  joy,  or  sorrow  plays, 
Fast  changing  with  the  thoughts  that  move  below.' 

The  following  verses  exhibit  a  beautiful  contrast  between 
the  bright  aspect  of  nature  and  the  solitude  of  the  heart ; 


PETRARCH.  23 

hues  that  glow,  charms  that  pass  brightly  before  the  physical 
eye,  but  which  cannot  penetrate  the  frozen  sources  of  feeling 
within. 

Zefiro  torna  e'l  bel  tempo  rimena, 

E  i  fiori,  e  l'erbe  sua  dolce  famiglia ; 

E  garrir  Progne,  e  pianger  Filomena ; 

E  primavera  Candida  e  vermiglia. 
Ridono  i  prati,  e'l  ciel  si  rasserena ; 

Giove  si  rallegra  di  mirar  sua  figlia ; 

L'aria,  e  l'acqua,  e  la  terra  e  d'amor  piena  : 

Ogni  animal  d'amar  si  riconsiglia. 
Ma  per  me,  lasso,  tornano  i  piu  gravi 

Sospiri,  che  dal  cor  profondo  tragge 

Quella  ch'al  ciel  sene  porto  le  chiavi. 
E  cantar  augellette,  e  fiorir  piagge, 

E'n  belle  donne  oneste  atti  soavi 

Sono  un  deserto  e  fere  aspre  selvagge. 

'  The  soft  west  wind  returning,  brings  again 
Its  lovely  family  of  herbs  and  flowers ; 
Progne's  soft  twitter,  Philomela's  strain, 
And  the  gay  dance  of  springtide's  rosy  hours. 

And  joyously  o'er  every  hill  and  plain 

Glows  the  bright  smile  that  greets  them  from  above, 
While  the  warm  spirit  of  reviving  love 
Breathes  in  the  air  and  murmurs  from  the  main. 

But  tears  and  rending  sighs,  which  gushingly 
Pour  from  the  secret  fountains  of  my  heart, 
Are  all  that  spring  returning  brings  to  me ; 

And  in  the  modest  smile,  or  glance  of  art, 
The  song  of  birds,  the  bloom  of  heath  and  tree, 
A  desert's  rugged  tract  and  savage  forms  I  sec' 

There  is  no  species  of  poetical  embellishment  that  require! 


24  PETRARCH. 

so  pure  a  taste,  and  such  sound  judgment,  as  the  introduction 
of  the  stream  and  the  forest  and  the  bird  that  warbles  in  its 
shade,  to  a  share  of  our  own  feelings.  When  the  heart  is 
cold  and  the  fancy  unexcited,  such  images  seem  extravagant 
and  lifeless.  We  catch  not  the  tone  of  feeling  which  gives 
life  to  whatever  meets  the  eye.  It  is  like  the  soft  strain  of  a 
pensive  air  in  an  hour  of  revelry,  or  the  thrilling  notes  of  the 
clarion  when  exhausted  nature  is  fainting  for  repose.  Yet 
every  one,  who  has  associated  a  strong  passion  witfi  some  fa- 
vorite scene,  will  feel  that  this  is  the  natural  language  of  the 
heart.  The  thought  of  a  dear  object  will  be  dearer  amid  the 
scenes  that  she  has  loved,  and  the  wind  that  has  "  breathed 
through  her  lattice  "  will  come  softer  and  sweeter  to  the  brow. 
How  naturally  does  imagination,  when  warmed  by  the  view 
of  some  venerable  ruin,  spread  over  its  barren  walls  the  rich 
drapery  of  other  days,  and  summon  up  the  forms  and  awaken 
the  voices  with  which  it  was  once  enlivened.  It  is  but  a  step 
further  to  call  upon  the  mossy  stone  for  the  tale  of  its  youth, 
or  to  believe  that  the  air  around  you  is  still  warmed  by  the 
breath  of  those  whose  memory  makes  it  dear. 

But  even  this  is  extravagant,  if  we  view  it  only  through 
the  cold  medium  of  judgment.  The  air  cannot  breathe,  the 
stone  cannot  speak,  and  the  ivy  drapery  of  the  walls  cannot 
be  exchanged  for  their  original  embellishments.  But  for  such 
an  eye  there  is  no  form  of  beauty  in  the  evening  sky,  no 
soothing  voice  in  the  whispered  hymns  of  the  forest.  It  is 
useless  to  scan  the  poetry  of  passion  with  the  cold  eye  of  un- 
impassioned  reason.  Our  moments  of  truest  poetic  feeling 
are  those  of  deepest  excitement ;  not  always  of  an  excitement 


PETRARCH.  25 

that  arouses  the  energies  of  the  mind,  and  acts  upon  its  pro- 
foundest  sensibilities,  but  of  one  which  sometimes  speaks  in 
low  tones  to  the  softer  senses  of  our  nature,  and  stirs  with  a 
gentle  touch  the  deep  sources  of  passion. 

Now  we  are  too  apt  to  forget,  that  the  poetry  of  feeling  is 
the  language  of  this  excitement,  —  a  language  that  flows  natu- 
rally and  freely  from  the  depths  of  the  soul,  although  a  chill 
often  spreads  over  it  from  the  unmoved  sympathies  of  the 
reader.  What  the  true  poet  writes  with  feeling  he  has  often 
felt  in  agony,  and  although,  when  he  calls  upon  the  grove  and 
the  stream  to  witness  his  sufferings,  it  may  seem  to  us  the  lan- 
guage of  embellishment,  it  is  for  him  the  warm  expression  of 
real  emotions. 

We  find  repeated  examples  of  this  imagery  in  the  verses  of 
Petrarch,  varying,  however,  according  to  the  nature  of  his 
own  feelings ;  sometimes  pursuing  the  rapid  current  with  en- 
vious eye,  at  others  seeking  with  jealous  haste,  the  solitude  of 
the  desert ;  now  linked  with  some  beautiful  form  of  natural 
scenery,  now  responding  to  the  soft  notes  of  the  melancholy  night- 
ingale ;  while  every  image  that  arises  in  the  mind  receives  the 
coloring  of  that  mind,  its  warmth,  its  purity,  and  its  tenderness. 
While  passing  near  the  sources  of  the  Rhone  on  his  way  to 
Avignon,  the  sight  of  a  stream,  whose  waters  would  flow  from 
his  eye  to  murmur  around  the  footsteps  of  Laura,  called  forth 
the  following  sonnet,  —  light  and  easy  in  its  movement,  al- 
though not  characterized  by  any  great  depth  either  of  thought 
or  of  feeling. 

Rapido  fiurae ;  che  d'  alpestre  vena 
Rodendo  intorno,  onde'l  tuo  nome  prendi, 
3 


26  PETRARCH. 

Notte  e  di  meco  desioso  scendi 

Ov'  Amor  me,  te  sol  natura  mena ; 
Vattene  innanzi :  il  tuo  corso  non  frena 

Ne  stanchezza,  ne  sonno :  e  pria  che  rendi 

Suo  dritto  al  mar ;  fiso,  u  si  mostri,  attendi, 

L'erba  pi£i  verde,  e  l'aria  piu  serena. 
Ivi  e  quel  nostro  vivo  e  dolce  sole, 

Ch'  adorna  e'nfiora  la  tua  riva  manca ; 

Forse,  (0  che  spero !)  il  mio  tardar  le  dole. 
Baciale  '1  piede,  e  la  man  bella  e  bianca : 

Dille :  II  baciar  sia'n  vece  di  parole : 

Lo  spirto  e  pronto,  ma  la  came  e  stanca. 

*  Swift  current,  that  from  rocky  Alpine  vein, 
Gathering  the  tribute  to  thy  waters  free, 
Mov'st  joyous  onward  night  and  day  with  me, 
Where  nature  leads  thee,  me  loves  tyrant  chain ; 

Roll  freely  on,  nor  toil  nor  rest  restrain 

Thine  arrowy  course ;  but  ere  thou  yieldest  in 

The  tribute  of  thy  waters  to  the  main, 

Seek  out  heaven's  purest  sky,  earth's  deepest  green  ; 

There  wilt  thou  find  the  soft  and  living  beam, 
That  o'er  thy  left  bank  sheds  its  heavenly  rays ; 
If  unto  her  too  slow  my  footsteps  seem, 

(While  by  her  feet  thy  lingering  current  strays, 
Forming  to  words  the  murmurs  of  its  stream) 
Say  that  the  weary  flesh  the  willing  soul  delays.' 

The  following  verses  have  a  far  sweeter  flow,  with  a  deep 
tone  of  tender  melancholy.  They  were  written  after  the  death 
of  Laura. 

Quel  rosignuol,  che  si  soave  piagne 
Forse  suoi  figli,  o  sua  cara  consorte, 


PETRARCH.  27 

Di  dolcezza  em  pie  il  cielo  e  le  campagne 
Di  tante  note  si  pietose  e  scorte ; 
E  tutta  notte  par,  che  m'accompagne, 
E  mi  rammente  la  mia  dura  sorte. 

'  Yon  nightingale,  whose  melancholy  strain 

Laments  his  tender  young,  or  partner  dear, 

Pours  sweetly  through  the  mellow  air  and  plain, 
His  thousand  notes,  so  mournful  and  so  clear: 

And  through  night's  lonely  watches  flowing  near, 

They  wake  the  buried  memory  of  my  pain.' 

/'This  also  is  full  of  grace  and  that  tender  melancholy  which 
was  so  natural  to  him. 

Sweet  little  bird  that  slowly  passing  on, 
Weepest  the  memory  of  thy  morning  pride, 
With  night  and  chilling  winter  at  thy  side, 
And  all  the  joyous  months  of  summer  gone : 

0  if  my  breast,  its  deep  set  sorrows  speaking — 
Like  thine  own  sorrows  —  could  reveal  to  thee, 
With  gentle  wing  this  mournful  bosom  seeking, 
Thou'st  come  to  share  thy  sad  lament  with  me. 

But  falling  leaves  and  twilight's  gathering  gloom, 
The  thought  of  sweet  and  bitter  hours  recalling, 
Invite  my  spirit  to  commune  with  thee. 

The  following  piece  is  purely  devotional. 

I  vo  piangendo  i  miei  passati  tempi, 

1  quai  posi  in  amar  cosa  mortale 
Senza  levarmi  a  volo,  avend'io  l'alc, 


28  PETRARCH. 

Per  dar  forse  di  me  non  bassi  esempi. 
Tu,  che  vedi  i  miei  mali  indegni  ed  empi, 

Re  del  cielo  invisibile,  imraortale ; 

Soccorri  all'  alma  disviata  e  frale, 

E'l  suo  difetto  di  tua  grazia  adempi. 
Sicche  s'io  vissi  in  guerra  ed  in  tempesta, 

Mora  in  pace  ed  in  porto ;  e  se  la  stanza 

Fu  vana,  aim  en  sia  la  partita  onesta. 
A  quel  poco  di  viver,  che  m'  avanza, 

Ed  al  morir  degni  esser  tua  man  presta; 

Tu  sai  ben,  che'n  altrui  non  ho  speranza. 

'  In  tears  I  trace  the  memory  of  the  days, 

When  every  thought  was  bent  on  human  love, 

Nor  dared  direct  its  eager  flight  above, 

And  seek  (as  heaven  designed)  a  nobler  praise. 
O,  whilst  thine  eye  my  wretched  state  surveys, 

Invisible,  immortal  king  of  heaven ! 

Unto  my  frail  and  erring  soul  be  given 

To  gather  strength  in  thy  reviving  rays. 
So  that  a  life,  mid  war  and  tempest  past, 

A  peaceful  port  may  find ;  and  close  at  last, 

On  Jesus's  breast,  its  years  of  vanity. 
And  when  at  length  thy  summons  sets  me  free, 

O  may  thy  powerful  arms,  around  me  cast, 

Support  the  fainting  soul,  that  knows  no  trust  but  thee.' 

^Mingled  with  the  amatory  verses  of  the  Canzoniere,  there 
are  a  few  noble  odes,  which  breathe  a  purer  feeling,  and  flow 
in  a  more  elevated  strain  than  individual  love  can  ever  in- 
spire. These  are  the  tributes  to  the  sad  state  of  his  beloved 
Italy ;  verses  in  which  the  love  of  country  speaks  boldly  and 
fearlessly,  while  the  pride  of  ancient  power  weeps  bitterly 


PETRARCH.  29 

-If 

over  the  bleeding  remains  of  the  Empire.  //There  is  a  bold- 
ness in  the  tone  with  which  he  addresses  the  rulers  of  his 
country,  a  confidence  in  the  purity  and  elevation  of  his  views, 
which  give  to  every  word  the  weight  of  an  oracle.  We  listen 
to  him,  as  to  the  sighs  of  a  favorite  child  beside  the  tomb, 
that  is  closing  over  the  lifeless  remains  of  his  parent.  What- 
ever affectation  of  feeling  he  may  have  been  guilty  of  in  other 
pieces,  there  is  surely  none  here.  Every  word  comes  warm 
from  the  soul.  Every  thought  seems  to  rise  up  from  the 
swelling  heart.  The  imagery  itself  seems  to  be  the  resource 
of  an  excess  of  feeling,  which  plain  language  is  too  feeble  to 
express.  And  the  truth  of  observation,  the  sincerity  of  con- 
viction with  which  he  describes  the  wrong,  and  points  out  the 
remedy,  correspond  to  the  general  warmth  of  his  expostula- 
tions. The  noble  ode,  which  he  composed  upon  the  approach 
of  the  emperor,  should  be  engraven  upon  the  mind  of  every 
Italian.  It  opens  with  an  address  to  Italy,  and  an  invocation 
to  the  Saviour. 

'  Mine  own  Italia,  although  words  be  vain, 

The  deadly  wounds  to  heal, 

"Which  scattered  o'er  thy  lovely  form  I  see, 

Yet  some  relief  my  bleeding  heart  may  feel, 

In  forming  such  a  strain 

As  all  thy  trembling  sons  expect  from  me. 

Ruler  of  heaven,  I  turn  to  thee : 
O  may  the  love,  that  led  thee  once  to  earth, 
Turn  to  thine  own  beloved  land,  thine  eyes ; 
See  where  she  lowly  lies, 

See  from  what  trivial  cause,  what  cruel  wars  have  birth,  j 
And  o'er  each  hardened  soul 
3* 


30  PETRARCH. 

In  Mars'  stern  fetters  bound, 

0  spread  with  gentle  hand  thy  soft  control, 

And  feebly  tho'  it  sound, 

Pour  thro'  my  humble  voice  thy  holy  spirit  round.' 

Then  addressing  himself  to  the  divided  rulers  of  Italy,  he 
describes  in  a  few  energetic  words,  which  we  know  not  how 
to  translate,  the  miserable  condition  to  which  their  own  divis- 
ions and  the  intervention  of  foreign  power  had  reduced  them. 
He  points  to  the  Alps,  the  barriers  which  nature  had  raised 
for  their  protection,  but  which  their  own  short-sighted  ambi- 
tion had  broken  down,  and  with  a  deep  burst  of  indignation 
turns  back  to  their  former  trophies  of  victory  won  from  their 
present  rulers.  There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  the  whole 
range  of  lyric  poetry,  than  the  melancholy  flow  of  the  verse, 
in  which,  speaking  of  the  'collected  flood  of  deserts  strange,'* 
he  asks,  what  hope  there  can  be  for  those  who  are  thus  sink- 
ing under  the  blows  of  their  brethren.  Suddenly  turning 
from  the  contemplation  of  these  miserable  divisions,  and  of 
the  clouds  that  cast  their  dark  shadows  over  the  future,  he 
breaks  forth  in  a  most  touching  appeal  to  the  home  of  his  birth, 
the  last  shroud  of  his  parents,  by  which,  at  least,  although 
every  other  inducement  should  fail,  the  spirit  of  ancient  Rome 


*  0  gathered  flood 

Of  deserts  strange  — 

Our  lovely  fields  to  overflow  — 

If  our  own  hands 

Such  ruin  bring, 

Who  shall  escape,  or  who  arrest  the  blow  ? 


PETRARCH.  31 

should  again  be  aroused  to  cast  off  the  fatal  load  that  bows 
it  to  the  earth.  *  The  last  stanza,  flowing  in  a  less  animated, 
but  noble  and  dignified  strain,  is  an  exhortation  to  the  emperor 
to  hush  the  busy  spirit  of  hatred  and  envy,  and  devote  to  the 
worthier  end  of  securing  the  peace  and  union  of  Italy,  that  time 
which  is  too  often  passed  in  the  selfish  gratification  of  indi- 
vidual passion. 

In  so  large  a  collection  of  poems,  chiefly  devoted  to  the 
expression  of  one  absorbing  feeling,  it  would  be  unnatural  to 
suppose  that  all  parts  should  be  uniformly  perfect.  Our  feel- 
ings are  not  all  equally  fitted  for  expression,  and  the  language 
that  should  clothe  them  not  always  at  our  command.  The 
poet  must  sometimes  feel  deeply  where  he  can  find  no  ade- 
quate expression  for  his  feelings,  and  the  mind  glow  with 
thoughts  that  grow  cold  in  the  utterance.  Accordingly,  we 
find  many  cold  verses  and  frigid  conceits  mingled  with  true 
bursts  of  feeling,  and  even  some  entire  pieces  remarkable  only 
for  skill  of  versification.  Happily,  however,  they  bear  a  very 
small  proportion  to  the  true  expressions  of  nature.  No  clearer 
proof  of  this  can  be  required,  than  what  is  furnished  by  the 
influence,  which  the  Canzoniere  has  always  exerted  upon 
Italian  poetry.  Few  literary  histories  record  a  greater  varie- 
ty of  striking  revolutions,  than  the  literary  history  of  Italy. 

*  Is  not  this  the  sod 

Which  first  my  infant  footsteps  trod  ? 

Ah !  is  not  this  the  downy  nest 

Where  life's  first  years  were  sweetly  nurst ; 

My  native  land  —  my  weary  spirit's  trust : 

A  mother  ever  tender,  ever  mild, 

On  whose  kind  lap  my  father — mother  rest! 


32  PETRARCH. 

Commencing  at  the  birth  of  the  language,  with  the  wild  and 
vigorous  poem  of  Dante,  the  occasional  roughness  of  versifi- 
cation and  irregularity  of  diction  were  polished  and  corrected 
by  the  purer  taste  of  Petrarch.  Here,  as  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  causes,  whose  origin  we  shall  soon  have  occasion  to 
observe,  the  taste  of  men  of  letters  again  turned  back  to  the 
Latin  classics.  During  the  long  interval  of  nearly  a  century, 
that  elapsed  between  the  death  of  Petrarch  and  the  manhood 
of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  the  progress  of  Italian  poetry  had 
ceased,  and  the  cultivation  of  native  literature  given  place  to 
the  schools  of  philosophy,  and  an  unsuccessful  imitation  of 
Latin  verse.  With  Lorenzo  the  taste  for  Italian  poetry  again 
revived,  and  together  with  it  were  revived  the  honors  of  Pe- 
trarch. The  Canzoniere  began  once  more  to  pass  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  and  to  dispute  the  palm  with  Horace  and  Catullus. 
After  a  long  and  glowing  period  of  noble  productions,  ushered 
in  by  the  classic  taste  of  Poliziano,  enlivened  by  the  irregu- 
larly beautiful  descriptions  of  Ariosto,  and  stamped  at  last  by 
the  solemn  impress  of  the  Jerusalem,  the  pure  spirit  of  poetry 
yielded  before  another  foe,  the  fanciful  conceits  and  studied 
antithesis  of  the  Secentisti.  And  here  Petrarch  again  dis- 
appears from  the  stage,  but  at  the  first  dawn  of  reviving 
taste,  the  poets  of  Italy  return  once  more  to  the  father  of 
lyric  verse,  to  seek  in  his  pages  purity  of  style,  chaste  ele- 
gance of  imagery,  with  all  the  simpler  graces  of  naturaj 
thought  And  never  have  they  returned  to  this  model,  with- 
out a  correspondent  change  in  the  character  of  their  produc- 
tions. Nature  and  feeling  again  resume  their  place  at  the  side 
of  the  Canzoniere;  the  heart  is  again  thrilled  with  the  language 


PETRARCH.  33 

of  true  patriotism,  and  the  eye  once  more  wet  with  the  tear  of 
unaffected  sensibility.  * 

The  Trionfi  of  Petrarch  are  not  generally  so  much  admired, 
as  the  sonnets  and  odes.  They  are  a  sort  of  poetical  vision, 
in  which  the  praises  of  Laura  are  blended  with  the  triumphs 
of  Love,  of  Chastity,  of  Death,  of  Fame,  of  Time,  and  of  the 
Divinity ;  a  species  of  composition,  which  is  supposed  to  have 
originated  among  the  Provencal  poets.  They  are  written  in 
terza  rima,  often  less  polished  than  the  verses  of  the  Canzo- 
niere,  but  sometimes  approaching  the  vigorous  diction  of 
Dante,  f  The  long  catalogue  of  names  collected  from  ancient 
history  and  mythology  is  highly  characteristic  of  the  period 
in  which  the  work  was  written,  but  is  wholly  unsuited  to  the 
taste  of  our  own.  Yet  some  of  these  are  accompanied  by 
bold  sketches  of  character,  —  verses  in  which  a  prominent 
trait  is  made  to  represent  the  whole  person,  while  a  few  vig- 
orous expressions  form  a  perfect  painting  to  the  mental  eye. 
The  passages  in  which  he  describes  the  characteristics  of 
love,  the  nature  and  play  of  his  own  feelings,  or  where  his 
imagination  is  warmed  by  some  scenic  description,  which,  as 
he  writes,  grows  clearer  and  brighter  to  the  eye  of  fancy? 
are  among  the  best,  if  not  decidedly  the  best,  of  his  poems. 
Nothing,  indeed,  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  last  half  of 
the  third  Capitolo  of  the  Triumph  of  Love,  and  the  whole  of 

*V.  Crescembcni  De'  Comment,  int.  alia  Stor.  della  Volg.  Poes. 
Vol  I.  pp.  118,  119,  120. 

Denina  Vic.  della  Lett.  Parte  III.  pass. 

t  The  occasional  roughness  of  the  Trionfi  is  not  to  be  attributed  to 
the  taste  of  Petrarch;  but  to  his  death,  that  left  them  incomplete. 
Squarzaf.  Vit.  Pet.  7. 


34  PETRARCH. 

the  Triumph  of  Death.  But  the  chief  qualities  of  these  po- 
ems, (except  that  they  possess  greater  vigor  of  conception  and 
force  of  expression)  are  the  same  as  those  of  the  Canzoniere ; 
the  same  tenderness  of  feeling,  the  same  quick  perception  of 
the  delicate  sympathies  between  the  external  world  and  the 
world  within,  the  same  richness  of  expression  and  brilliancy 
of  fancy. 

The  following  verses  are  from  the  Trionfi-della  Morte, 
Cap.  1. 

Where  are  their  treasures,  where  their  honors  now  ? 

The  jewelled  sceptre  and  the  glittering  crown, 

Or  purple  glories  of  the  mitred  brow  ? 

O  wretched !  when  on  human  joys  alone 

We  found  our  hopes!  and  yet  who  builds  not  there ? 

Tho'  disappointment  chill  and  reason  frown  ? 

0  blindly  bent  on  unavailing  care ! 

Drawn  one  by  one  to  your  maternal  clay, 

Your  very  names  have  vanished  light  as  air. 

And  of  the  thousand  toils  that  marked  your  way, 

Let  him,  who  best  those  cares  and  toils  hath  known, 

Find  one  that  doth  not  each  fond  hope  betray. 

What  though  all  nations  to  your  will  bow  down ; 

For  you  their  tributary  treasures  fill, 

Whose  eager  will  their  ruin  urges  on  ? 

When  the  wild  tumult  of  the  strife  is  still, 

And  land  and  treasure  by  your  blood  are  won, 

Far  sweeter  seem  the  gently  flowing  rill, 

And  humble  hut  each  peasant  calls  his  own. 

We  have  thus  far  followed  the  course  of  Petrarch,  through 
the  productions  which  he  seems  to  have  composed  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  promptings  of  his  own  genius ;  we  must  now  (al- 


PETRARCH.  35 

though  with  a  hurried  pen)  trace  his  footsteps  along  the  path 
to  which  his  judgment  and  his  reason  directed  him. 

It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  spirit  of  his  age  was  di- 
rected to  the  study  of  philosophy  and  the  Latin  classics,  rather 
than  to  the  cultivation  of  a  native  literature.  Nor  is  it  un- 
worthy of  remark,  that  the  first  who  gave  this  impulse  to 
modern  taste,  were  among  those  whom  we  now  venerate  as 
the  fathers  of  modern  literature ;  not  indeed  for  a  successful 
imitation  of  the  classics  whom  they  admired  so  highly,  but 
for  productions  formed  in  the  style  of  their  own  age,  and 
breathing  its  wild,  irregular  spirit. 

A  passion  for  Latin  literature  was  closely  connected  with 
Petrarch's  first  attachment  to  letters.  While  his  companions 
at  Carpentras  were  following  the  beaten  track  of  the  minor 
Latin  writers,  he  had  already  overcome  the  chief  difficulties 
of  the  language,  and  was  learning  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of 
Cicero  and  of  Livy.  The  study  of  law,  far  from  supplanting 
this  taste,  did  not  even  retard  its  development.  While  his 
instructors  supposed  him  engaged  in  the  codes,  he  was  secret- 
ly bending  over  the  more  congenial  pages  of  Cicero ;  and 
even  the  allusions  to  old  manners  and  monuments,  which  he 
met  in  his  legal  studies,  served  as  new  excitements  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  his  natural  taste. 

A  taste  so  strong  and  decided,  combined  with  the  most  as- 
piring ambition,  found  unusual  incitements  to  exertion  in  the 
peculiar  state  of  Latin  literature.  Although  great  veneration 
was  felt  for  the  classics  by  those  who  knew  anything  of  their 
works,  yet  even  the  literary  men  of  the  age  had  fallen  into 
some  singular  mistakes  concerning  them.    Petrarch  carried  on 


36  PETRARCH. 

a  correspondence  in  the  name  of  the  Bishop  of  Lombes,  with 
a  celebrated  professor  of  law,  who,  not  content  with  his  legal 
reputation,  aspired  also  to  the  name  of  scholar.  In  this  he 
ridicules  the  anachronisms  and  gross  errors  of  every  descrip- 
tion, into  which  his  correspondent  was  constantly  falling. 
Even  the  wise  King  Robert  was  not  wholly  free  from  the  er- 
roneous views  of  the  age,  and  he  was  long  suspicious  of  the 
character,  and  neglectful  of  the  works  of  Virgil.  When 
scholars  and  their  patrons  are  led  into  such  errors  as  these,  it 
is  clear  that  the  means  of  correcting  them  are  very  rare. 
And  in  fact,  the  works  of  most  classic  writers,  contained  in 
scarce  manuscripts,  and  seldom  found  united,  were  in  them- 
selves an  object  of  eager  research.  A  tract  of  Cicero  might  be 
found  entire  in  a  library  of  Italy,  a  few  orations  in  some  city 
of  Flanders,  a  portion  of  Quinctilian  or  Livy  in  some  convent 
of  France  or  Spain :  but  to  unite  and  compare  and  correct 
these  scattered  fragments,  and  give  them  the  form  and  con- 
venience of  a  regular  collection,  was  a  task  that  required  not 
money  and  leisure  alone,  but  indefatigable  industry,  and  an 
indomitable  zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  letters. 

Petrarch  engaged  in  this  research  with  all  the  energies  of 
his  soul.  He  spared  no  expense  in  securing  the  assistance  of 
others,  for  money  was  of  no  value  to  him  when  it  could  be 
exchanged  for  books.  He  employed  professed  copyists  ;  he 
sent  into  different  countries  for  particular  works,  not  always, 
indeed,  with  the  hope  of  finding  them,  but  generally  with  the 
expectation  of  obtaining  some  important  manuscript.  No 
friend  was  ever  permitted  to  leave  him  for  a  tour,  or  for  busi- 
ness, or  even  to  return  to  his  own  country,  without  a  charge 


PETRARCH.  37 

to  remember  the  wants  of  his  collection,  and  particularly  to 
search  for  the  writings  of  Cicero.  By  his  influence,  many 
were  induced  to  engage  in  the  same  pursuit,  and  whether  co- 
operating with  his  views,  or  consulting  more  directly  their 
private  interest,  they  all  contributed  to  the  preservation  and 
multiplying  of  the  copies  of  classic  authors.  Nor  was  it  by 
words  and  exhortations  alone,  that  Petrarch  animated  his 
friends  in  this  pursuit.  His  own  activity  in  collecting  and 
copying,  was  a  bright  example  to  his  most  zealous  followers. 
During  his  various  journeys,  he  kept  constantly  in  view  the 
discovery  of  his  favorite  manuscripts.  While  on  a  journey  to 
Home,  he  discovered  a  part  of  the  works  of  Quinctilian,  and 
in  a  letter  from  Flanders,  he  complains  that  he  could  hardly 
find  in  the  rich  city  of  Liege,  a  little  yellow  ink  to  copy  a  few 
orations  of  Cicero.  A  manuscript  of  Virgil  of  his  copying, 
is  still  preserved  in  the  Ambrosian  library  of  Milan ;  and  in 
the  Laurentian  of  Florence  may  be  seen  two  beautiful  copies 
of  Cicero's  Epistles,  one  of  the  Familiar  Correspondence,  the 
other  of  the  letters  to  Atticus,  —  both  written  by  the  same 
indefatigable  hand.* 

But  the  task  of  copying  formed  a  very  small  part  of  his  la- 
bors. The  ignorance  and  presumption  of  former  copyists  had 
introduced  gross  corruptions  into  the  texts  of  many  authors, 
and  disfigured  them  so  much,  that,  according  to  Petrarch,  the 
writers  themselves  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  distinguish 
them.  The  labors  of  the  editor  have  been  so  long  familiar 
to  modern  readers,  that  they  no  longer  come  before  us  sur- 

*  In  this  department  Petrarca  had  been  preceded  by  the  celebrated 
Lanfranc.    V.  Gingueni.  Hist  Lit.  d'  It.,  1. 1,  ch.  II.  p.  126-7. 


38  PETRARCH. 

rounded  with  bewildering  perplexities  ;  but  for  Petrarch,  the 
path  was  new  and  encumbered  with  every  species  of  obstruc- 
tion. There  were  no  fixed  principles,  no  established  canons, 
no  standard  in  short,  that  he  could  follow,  but  the  dictates  of 
his  own  taste  and  judgment.  The  dignity  of  the  laborer  in- 
creasing in  proportion  to  the  difficulty  and  importance  of  his 
task,  most  writers  have  looked  upon  this  as  one  of  the  proud- 
est monuments  of  Petrarch's  glory.  The  fourth  letter  of  the 
second  book  De  Senectute  contains  a  fine  specimen  of  his  criti- 
cal skill,  —  not,  indeed,  such  acuteness  and  strength  of  argu- 
ment as  would  command  the  attention  of  a  modern  scholar, 
but  a  degree  of  thought  and  observation,  almost  wholly  un- 
known to  his  credulous  contemporaries. 

A  passion  for  history  was  the  natural  companion  of  such  re- 
searches. And  the  fondness  with  which  Petrarch  pursued 
this  study,  would  be  evident  from  his  letters  alone,  had  we  not 
the  clearer  testimony  of  his  own  compositions.  In  this  study, 
also,  he  was  distinguished  by  the  judgment  with  which  he 
weighed  the  conflicting  testimony  of  ancient  writers,  forming 
his  opinion  according  to  the  authority  of  the  historian,  and  the 
probability  of  his  narrative.  Nor  was  he  content  with  the 
testimony  of  books  alone ;  the  ancient  monuments,  which  have 
proved  so  useful  to  modern  historians,  were  at  an  early  period 
studied  by  him  as  sources  of  historical  evidence,  and  the  first 
collection  of  medals,  of  which  we  find  mention  in  literary  his- 
tory, was  that  which  he  presented  to  the  Emperor  Charles  II.* 

We  dwell  with  pleasure  upon  this  portion  of  Petrarch's 
history,  for  it  is  the  clearest  record  of  his  bold  and  energetic 
*  Tirab.  V.  104. 


PETRARCH.  o9 

mind,  qualities  willingly  conceded  to  him,  it  is  true,  by  all 
who  have  studied  the  literary  history  of  his  age,  but  which 
hundreds  who  can  repeat  the  story  of  Laura,  would  never 
think  of  attributing  to  her  lover. 

We  possess  a  curious  proof  of  the  poetical  enthusiasm  which 
Petrarch  carried  into  the  driest  part  of  his  researches,  in  the 
letters  which  he  addressed  to  Cicero,  and  Homer,  and  others 
of  the  old  classics.  The  feeling  itself,  the  desire  to  hold  some 
direct  communication,  some  interchange  of  thought,  with  those 
from  whom  we  learn  to  think  and  to  express  our  thoughts,  has 
undoubtedly  been  shared  by  every  enthusiastic  scholar.  But, 
there  are  few,  we  believe,  who  have  thus  overleaped  in  imagi- 
nation the  bounds  of  time,  and  attempted  to  form,  in  the  si- 
lence of  their  own  studies,  a  communion  with  the  dead.  The 
number  of  these  letters  is  small ;  the  edition  before  us  con- 
tains only  five,  two  to  Cicero,  one  to  Seneca,  one  to  Livy,  and 
one  to  Varro ;  but  there  are  others  in  manuscript  in  the  Eu- 
ropean libraries,  and  some  have  J>een  already  published  by  the 
Abbe  de  Sade. 

We  are  not  aware  that  any  proof  of  Petrarch's  progress  in 
Greek  literature,  is  to  be  found  in  the  influence  of  this  study 
upon  his  own  writings.  But  we  find  the  clearest  evidence  of 
the  ardor  with  which  he  engaged  in  it,  in  various  parts  of  his 
works,*  and  especially  in  some  letters  in  which  he  laments 
the  loss  of  his  instructor  Barlaamo,  by  which  he  was  left  upon 
the  very  threshold  of  the  study.f 

It  would,  however,  be  unjust  to  confine  within  these  narrow 
bounds  of  research,  the  course  and  the  fruits  of  Petrarch's 

*  Opere,  p.  346.  t  Var.  Epist.  20. 


40  PETRARCH. 

classical  studies.  The  pure  and  harmonious  diction  of  his 
Italian  poems,  of  which  the  language  of  his  age  contained  no 
model,  must  be  in  part  attributed  to  his  constant  study  of  the 
most  correct  and  harmonious  of  the  Latin  poets.  While  an 
extensive  correspondence  bears  witness  to  the  social  qualities 
of  his  heart,  a  long  series  of  laborious  Latin  compositions  amply 
testifies  to  the  unwearied  vigor  of  his  mind.  But  authors  are 
generally  judged  by  those  productions  which  possess  a  perma- 
nent interest,  without  regard  to  the  views  or  opinions  of  their 
contemporaries.  And  thus  many  works  of  Petrarch,  which 
display  in  the  clearest  light  his  profound  research,  his  union 
of  the  study  of  man  with  the  study  of  books,  and  the  rich 
moral  qualities  which  adorned  his  heart,  are  wholly  lost  to  the 
greater  part  of  modern  readers. 

A  full  'examination  of  these  works  would  carry  us  too  far 
for  an  essay.  We  shall  therefore  conclude  with  a  brief  sketch 
of  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  are  arranged  in  the  edition 
of  Basle.  The  first  that  we  meet  is  the  Epistle  to  Posterity  ; 
a  short  and,  we  believe,  one  of  the  earliest  specimens  of  auto- 
biography. The  simple  and  modest  style  of  a  part  of  these 
pages,  would  remind  the  reader  of  the  beautiful  sketch  by 
Hume,  but  there  is  an  occasional  elevation  of  tone  and  con- 
scious dignity  of  reflection,  which  could  be  better  compared 
with  the  more  pretending  memoir  of  Gibbon. 

De  remediis  utriusque  fortunes. 

A  moral  treatise  in  two  books,  In  which  many  questions 
that  relate  to  human  happiness  are  discussed  in  a  series  of 
dialogues. 


PETRARCH.  41 

De  vita  solitaria.     1/ibri  duo. 

In  this  work  Petrarch  indulges  in  very  free  remarks  upon 
the  vices  of  the  great;  and  on  this  account,  during  his  life,  he 
communicated  it  to  only  two  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 

De  otio  Religiosorum.     Libri  duo. 

De  vera  Sapientia.     Dialogi  duo. 

De  contemptu  Mundi.     Dial.  3. 

These  three  dialogues  pass  between  Petrarch  and  St.  Au- 
gustine. They  throw  great  light  upon  many  of  his  opinions  as 
well  as  upon  some  points  of  his  history. 

In  speaking  collectively  of  these  moral  Treatises,  Tiraboschi 
observes,  that  although  they  contain  many  ascetic  reflections, 
and  particularly  the  De  cont.  Mund.  which  seems  to  be  an 
imitation  of  the  sincere  and  humble  confessions  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, yet  they  bear  strong  marks  not  only  of  a  diligent  study 
of  the  works  of  the  old  philosophers,  but  of  the  richer  volume 
of  human  nature.  And  it  may  be  added,  that  the  reader  will 
find  in  these  many  of  the  ideas  and  opinions  which  dignify  the 
pages  of  more  modern  productions. 

P salmi  poenitentiales.     7. 

De  Republica  optime  administranda. 

De  officio  et  virtutibus  imperatoriis. 

Rerum  Memorandarum.     Lib.  4. 

In  this  work  he  follows  the  manner  of  Valerius  Maximus, 
selecting  a  quality  or  habit  and  illustrating  it  by  examples 
from  ancient  and  modern  history.  In  the  first  chapter  of  the 
first  book,  he  describes  the  manner  in  which  many  distin- 
guished men  passed  their  leisure  hours.  In  the  second  he 
treats  of  study  and  learning.     In  the  first  chapter  of  the  se- 

4* 


42  PETRARCH. 

cond  book,  he  has  collected  many  remarkable  instances  of 
great  memory  —  in  the  second  of  genius,  and  thus  he  contin- 
ues throughout  the  work.  Many  of  these  illustrations  are 
interesting,  and  they  are  occasionally  interspersed  with  a  val- 
uable remark  or  beautiful  idea. 

Vitarum  Virorum  iUustrium  Epitome. 

This  consists  of  sketches  and  traits  of  character  rather  than 
exact  narrations.  It  was  left  incomplete  by  Petrarch,  and 
a  large  portion  was  added  after  his  death  by  Lobardus  Si- 
richius. 

The  remaining  pages  of  the  first  volume  contain  several 
orations  and  small  treatises,  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  enu- 
merate here.  We  must  however  be  allowed  one  exception 
in  favor  of  the  Itinerarium  Syriacum,*  in  which  the  course  of 
the  Pilgrim  to  Jerusalem  is  traced  through  the  most  remarka- 
ble cities  and  scenes  of  southern  Europe  and  of  Asia.  The 
catalogue  of  cities  and  coasts  and  islands  is  accompanied  with 
an  occasional  sketch  from  history  or  mention  of  the  remarka- 
ble objects  which  each  contains,  and  the  whole  is  interspersed 
with  beautiful  descriptions  of  scenery  and  situations.  The 
style  is  at  times  elevated  and  powerful.     The  following  is  a 

*  Petrarch  thus  speaks  of  the  origin  of  this  work  in  the  opening  para- 
graph. Poscis  ergo,  vir  optime,  quoniam  me  non  potes,  comites  has 
habere  literulas,  in  quibus,  quae  oculis  ipse  tuis  mox  videbis,  ex  me,  qui 
ea  certe  nee  dum  vidi  omnia,  nee  unquam  forte  visurus  sim,  an  dire  ex- 
petis,  mirum  dictu,  nisi  quia  passim  multa  quae  non  vidimus,  ignora- 
mus.—  Op.  p.  557. 

The  name  of  this  friend  has,  (as  in  all  cases  where  there  is  any  room 
for  dispute,)  given  rise  to  some  controversy.  Tiraboschi  upon  the  au- 
thority of  a  manuscript  edition  preserved  in  the  Estensian  Library,  sup- 
poses that  it  was  addressed  to  Giovanni  de  Mandello,  a  magistrate  of 
Piacenza.  — Tirab.  V.  112. 


PETRARCH.  43 

part  of  the  description  of  Genoa.     After  remarking  that  his 
friend  has  never  seen  that  city,  he  says : 

Videbis  ergo,  imperiosam  urbem,  lapidosi  collis  in  latere, 
virisque  et  moenibus  superbam,  quam  dominam  maris  illius 
aspectus  ipse  pronunciat. 

*  *  ***** 

You  will  see,  therefore,  upon  the  side  of  a  rocky  hill,  the 
lordly  city,  proud  of  her  inhabitants  and  her  walls,  and  bearing 
in  her  very  aspect — mistress  of  the  seas. 

Speaking  of  the  sail  along  the  coast  —  Hinc  digressus  ad 
laevam  totum  ilium  diem,  ne  oculos  a  terra  dimoveas  caveto, 
multa  enim  illis  occurrent,  quae  multo  facilius  tibi  sit  mirari, 
quam  cuiquam  hominum  stylo,  amplecti.  Valles  amoenissi- 
mas,  interlabentes  rivulos,*  colle3,  asperitate  gratissima  et  mira 
fertilitate  conspicuos,  et  auratas  domos  quocunque  te  verteris 
videbis  sparsas  in  littore,  et  mirabis  urbem  talem  decori  suori- 
um  rurium  delitiisque  succumbere. 

Starting  from  thence  and  coasting  all  day  along  the  left, 
you  should  not  lose  sight  even  for  an  instant  of  the  land  be 
fore  you.  It  will  be  far  easier  for  you  to  follow  with  your 
eyes  the  rich  variety  of  scenery,  than  for  me  to  describe  it. 
You  will  see  on  every  side  pleasant  valleys,  with  rivulets 
flowing  between,  hills  conspicuous  by  their  pleasing  wildness 
and  wonderful  fertility,  gilded  mansions  scattered  along  the 
shore,  and  you  will  be  surprised  that  the  magnificence  of  such 
a  city  should  be  surpassed  by  the  charms  of  the  surrounding 
country. 

*Did  Pope  have  this  in  mind  when  he  wrote  '  The  wandering  streams 
that  shine  between  the  hills  1 ' 


44  PETRARCH. 

The  second  volume  contains  his  correspondence. 

Epistolarum  <k  rebus  familiaribus.     Lib.  8. 

Epistolarum  ad  vivos  quosdam  ex  veteribus  iUustriores. 

Epistolarum  sine  titulo. 

Epistolarum  de  rebus  senilibus.     Lib.  16. 

Epistolarum  variorum. 

All  readers,  we  presume,  will  readily  class  these  among  the 
most  interesting  of  Petrarch's  Latin  works.  For  they  not 
only  contain  the  unlabored  picture  of  the  writer's  heart, 
which  is  necessarily  formed  in  the  course  of  a  free  corres- 
pondence, but  occasional  traits  of  contemporaneous  character, 
and  lively  and  animated  descriptions  of  the  men  and  manners 
of  his  own  age,  which  secure  our  confidence  the  more  readily, 
as  they  were  not  prepared  for  posterity  alone,  but  for  the  eye 
of  those  whose  own  experience  and  observation  could  best 
decide  concerning  their  truth. 

De  suipsius  et  multorum  ignorantia. 

The  cause  of  this  tract  was  the  zeal  for  the  doctrines  of  the 
Arabian  philosopher  Averroe,  whose  disciples  had  ventured 
to  attack  the  principles  of  the  Christian  religion.  Nothing 
could  be  more  shocking  to  the  piety  of  Petrarch,  and  he 
could  scarcely  restrain  his  indignation  while  listening  to  the 
weak  assertions  and  ridiculous  arguments  of  the  philosophers. 
Tiraboschi  calls  it  a  severe  criticism  upon  his  own  age,  (the 
18th  century,)  and  indeed  the  comparison  between  the  Infidels 
of  the  fourteenth  century  and  those  of  the  eighteenth  would 
but  show  how  willingly  and  easily  the  men  of  all  ages  are  de- 
ceived by  the  pretensions  of  their  fellow  men. 


PETRARCH.  45 

Apologia  authoris  contra  calumnias  Gatti. 

In  medicum  quendam  invectirarum.     Lib.  3. 

When  we  consider  the  science  of  his  age,  we  shall  look 
upon  this  last,  as  a  proof  of  sound  judgment  and  strength  of 
mind,  which  deserves  to  be  classed  with  his  contempt  for 
Judicial  Astrology. 

The  Latin  poems  of  Petrarch  consist  of  twelve  Eclogues, 
the  Epic  of  Africa  in  nine  books,  and  three  books  of  Epistles. 

We  fear,  however,  that  we  may  have  already  gone  too  far 
for  the  general  reader.  The  life  and  writings  of  Petrarch 
would  be  a  fitter  subject  for  a  full  volume,  than  for  a  limited 
essay.  We  have  but  touched  upon  the  most  prominent  fea- 
tures of  his  life  and  character  —  the  reader  who  would  study 
them  to  advantage,  must  seek  them  in  his  own  works  —  the 
Latin  as  well  as  the  Italian.  * 

*  In  1722  there  had  been  134  editions  of  the  Canzoniere.  V.  Quad- 
rio,  V.  11,  p.  182. 

The  commentators  of  Petrarch  began  their  labors,  according  to  Cre- 
scimbeni,  at  nearly  the  same  time  in  which  they  began  to  illustrate 
Dante.  One  would  hardly  suppose  that  such  productions  as  the  sonnets 
and  odes  of  the  Canzoniere,  would  admit  of  such  dispute  and  conjecture 
or  require  such  explanations  as  they  have  received.  A  list  of  these  for- 
midable foes  to  true  poetry  may  be  found  in  Crescimbeni.  Stor.  della 
Volg.  poes.  11.  2940.  One  would  suppose  that  the  various  readings 
might  all  be  compelled  to  submit  to  the  authority  of  the  manuscript 
which  is  still  preserved  in  Petrarch's  own  hand.  But  it  is  no  easy  task 
to  set  bounds  to  the  rage  of  correcting. 

Besides  the  comments  upon  the  whole  Canzoniere,  several  pieces 
have  been  selected  as  the  subjects  of  particular  study.  One  sonnet  alone 
was  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  ten  different  lectures.  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  the  sonnet  consists  of  fourteen  lines.  Besides  being 
commented  Petrarch  has  been  several  times  burlesqued — and  in  1536  a 
Venetian  editor  ventured  to  publish  aPetrarca  spiritualizzato — Petrarch 
spiritualized.    Cresc.  Vol.  1 1,  p.  302. 


MACHIAVELLI.* 


Quel  grande 
Che  temprando  lo  scettro  a'  regnatori, 
Gli  allor  ne  sfronda,  ed  alle  genti  svela 
Di  che  lagrime  grondi  e  di  che  sangue. 

/  Sepolcri. 

Niccolo  Machiavelli  was  born  at  Florence,  on  the  fifth 
of  May,  fourteen  hundred  and  sixty-nine,  of  an  ancient  and 
noble  family,  f  His  father,  Bernardo  Machiavelli,  traced 
back  his  ancestry  to  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century,  where 
it  became  mingled  with  the  race  of  the  ancient  Marquesses  of 
Tuscany.  His  mother  was  descended  from  the  Counts  of 
Borgo  Nuovo  of  Fucecchio,  whose  name  may  be  found  in  the 
annals  of  Tuscany,  as  early  as  the  tenth  century.     The  honor 

*  1.  Opere  di  Niccolo  Machiavelli,  Cittadino  e  Segretario  Florentino. 
X.  Vol.    Italia.     1826. 

2.  Machiavel,  son  genie  et  ses  Erreurs,  II.  Tom.  Par  A.  F.  Artaud. 
Paris.     1833. 

t  The  greater  part  of  Machiavelli's  history  is  contained  in  his  familiar 
letters  and  official  despatches.  1  he  most  voluminous  of  his  biographers, 
M.  Artaud,  has  been  contented  with  translating  or  condensing  them. 
But  they  still  open  a  rich  field,  which,  with  the  additions  and  illustra- 
tions that  careful  research  might  derive  from  other  sources,  would  yield 
an  enviable  harvest  to  the  diligent  historian. 


MACHIAVELLI.  47 

of  both  families  had  been  supported  by  a  long  line  of  republi- 
can dignitaries,  and  a  right  to  some  employment  in  the  service 
of  the  state,  had  become  almost  hereditary  in  them.  It  is 
probable  that  the  attention  of  Niccolo,  was  early  directed  to  a 
similar  line  of  duty,  and  that  his  habits  and  tastes  were 
carefully  formed  for  public  life.  But  the  meagre  and  indis- 
tinct records,  that  have  been  preserved  of  his  youth,  throw  but 
a  feeble  light  upon  this  portion  of  his  history ;  and  all  that 
can  be  gathered  from  his  own  writings,  consists  of  a  few  brief 
allusions  to  his  dependence  and  poverty.  * 

The  disadvantages  of  this  situation  must  have  been  com- 
pensated, in  part,  by  the  peculiar  prosperity  that  was  enjoyed 
at  Florence,  during  the  most  important  portion  of  this  period. 
He  wa3  born  in  the  last  year  of  the  mild  administration  of 
Piero  de'  Medici,  and  the  various  tumults  and  struggles,  oc- 
casioned by  the  party,  that  sought  to  prevent  the  succession 
of  Giuliano  and  Lorenzo,  had  terminated  in  the  unsuccessful 
conspiracy  of  the  "  Pazzi,"  before  he  had  completed  his  tenth 
year.  The  remainder  of  his  youth  was  passed  under  the 
popular  government  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  one  of  those 
rare  and  brilliant  epochs,  in  which  the  genius  of  the  prince 
encourages  the  development  of  mind,  while  his  power  is  still 
too  feeble  to  allow  him  to  restrict  its  freedom.  Thus  all  the 
influence  which  can  be  attributed  to  a  general  and  elevated 
taste  for  literature,  when  combined  with  the  highest  degree 
of  mental  activity,  may  be  justly  supposed  to  have  acted  upon 
the  early  character  of  Machiavelli,  and  to  have  concurred, 

*  Nacqui  povero,  ed  imparai  prkno  a  stentare  che  a  godere.    Lett,  al 
Vettori.    Opere,  Vol.  X.  p.  99. 


48  MACHIAVELLI. 

with  his  natural  disposition,  in  forming  those  prompt  and 
energetic  habits  of  thought,  by  which  he  was  so  much  dis- 
tinguished during  the  whole  of  his  career.  At  the  same 
time,  the  brilliant  festivals  and  splendid  games,  with  which 
Lorenzo  endeavored  to  divert  the  active  minds  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  from  too  closely  observing  the  course  and  tenden- 
cies of  his  government,  cherished  in  Machiavelli  the  fondness 
for  gayer  amusements,  which  served,  in  his  graver  years,  as 
a  relaxation  from  public  duty,  and,  during  the  cloudy  decline 
of  life,  consoled  and  cheered  the  weary  moments  of  languid 
inaction. 

But  the  first  years  of  his  manhood  were  hardly  passed, 
when  the  death  of  Lorenzo  de'Medici,  at  the  most  critical 
moment  of  his  country's  fortunes,  again  exposed  Florence  as 
a  prey  to  internal  jealousies,  and  an  aim  for  foreign  ambition. 
The  nobler  qualities  of  Lorenzo  were  soon  forgotten  under 
the  puerile  administration  of  his  son,  and  even  the  wisdom 
and  judgment  which  had  given  solidity  to  his  own  power, 
contributed,  by  contrast,  to  diminish  the  authority  of  his  im- 
prudent successor.  The  rapid  invasion  of  Charles  VIII.,  with 
the  long  continued  woes,  that  it  drew  down,  not  only  upon 
the  devoted  object  of  his  ambition,  but  upon  the  whole  of  Ita- 
ly; and  the  promptitude  with  which  the  Florentines  seized 
this  occasion  of  throwing  off  their  wearisome  yoke ;  the  timid 
and  vacillating  conduct  of  Piero  de'Medici,  and  his  cowardly 
abandonment  of  the  interest  and  dignity  of  his  country,  are 
facts  with  which  every  reader  of  Italian  history  is  familiar. 
If  our  readers,  therefore,  will  carry  back  their  minds  to  the 
state  of  Florence,  at  this  period,  both  in  its  internal  and  its 


MACHIAVELLI.  49 

external  relations,  they  will  readily  perceive  that  Machiavelli 
could  not  have  commenced  his  political  career,  at  a  moment 
that  imposed  more  arduous  duties,  or  required  a  greater  share 
of  energy  and  skill.  * 

His  first  essay  in  political  life,  was  made  under  the  direction 
of  Marcello  di  Virgillio,  about  the  year  1494:  but  the  com- 
mencement of  his  active  career  must  be  carried  forward  nearly 
five  years,  to  the  19th  of  June,  1498.  This  is  the  date  of  his 
first  public  employment,  and  some  idea  may  be  formed,  either 
of  his  popularity  or  of  his  promise,  from  the  circumstance  of 
his  having  been  chosen  from  among  four  competitors,  to  the 
office  of  Chancellor  of  the  second  Chancery  of  the  Signoria. 
During  the  course  of  the  following  month,  he  received  from 
the  "  Ten  of  Liberty  and  Peace,"  the  appointment  which  has 
preserved  for  him,  with  posterity,  the  title  of  "  Secretary  of  the 
Florentine  Republic." 

He  seems  to  have  considered  this  office  as  a  school  of  prac- 
tical politics.  The  intimate  relations  that  subsisted  between 
Florence  and  the  principal  powers  of  Europe,  required  in  its 
government  a  greater  degree  of  activity  than  we  should  be 
prepared  to  expect  from  so  small  a  state,  and  gave  rise  also  to 
many  delicate  questions  that  called  for  the  greatest  prudence 
and  sagacity  in  all  those  to  whom  the  arrangement  of  them 
was  entrusted.     Machiavelli  was  employed  on  many  of  these 


*  A  satisfactory  account  of  Florence  from  this  period  until  the  death 
of  Machiavelli,  may  be  found  in  Pignotti,  Storia  della  Toscana,  Lib. 
V.,  or  in  Guicciardini,  though  with  more  detail  of  the  general  history 
of  Italy.    Of  the  Florentine  historians  of  this  period,  Nardi  is  the  most 


50  MACHIAVELLI. 

occasions,  *  and  the  rapid  development  of  his  political  genius 
may  be  easily  traced  in  his  extensive  correspondence  with  the 

*He  was  employed  in  twenty -three  foreign  embassies,  among  which 
were  four  to  the  court  of  France,  and  two  to  the  Emperor.  In  addition 
to  these  duties,  he  was  charged,  on  various  occasions,  with  private  mis- 
sions, within  the  state,  and  others  of  still  greater  importance  to  the  armies 
of  the  republic. 

No  part  of  Machiavelli's  political  career  has  given  rise  to  so  much 
misrepresentation,  as  his  embassy  to  the  Duke  Valentino,  on  the  occasion 
of  his  rupture  with  Vitellozzo,  Oliverotto  and  the  Orsini.  The  reader 
who  confines  his  examination  of  this  period  to  the  narrations  of  Roscoe 
and  some  other  modern  historians,  will  be  led  to  concur  in  the  darkest 
views  of  the  character  of  Machiavelli.  An  attentive  perusal  of  the  origi- 
nal documents,  will  lead  to  a  very  different  conclusion.  The  perilous 
situation  of  the  Florentine  republic  exerted,  at  this  moment,  a  peculiar 
influence  upon  her  policy ;  and  the  friendship  of  Borgia  and  of  Alexan- 
der, instead  of  forming  a  question  of  general  interest  or  of  probable  ad- 
vantage, was  one  of  those  points  which  easily  decide  the  destruction  or 
preservation  of  a  state.  It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  Jtfachia- 
velli  was  despatched  to  the  court  of  Borgia.  The  histoiy  of  his  embassy 
is  fully  detailed  in  his  official  correspondence ;  but  the  master-piece  of 
treachery,  by  which  Borgia  secured  his  vengeance  upon  greater  villians 
than  himself,  is  related  in  a  separate  letter,  which,  originally  either 
formed  a  part  of  the  despatches,  or  was  prepared,  like  the  other  historical 
fragments,  to  be  interwoven  in  the  continuation  of  the  Florentine  His- 
tories. That  Machiavelli.  far  from  assisting  to  devise  the  treachery  of 
Borgia,  had  no  knowledge  of  his  intentions  with  regard  to  Vitellozzo  and 
his  associates,  is  evident  from  the  whole  course  of  his  letters.  It  appears 
from  these,  that  the  Duke  never  confided  his  plans  even  to  his  favorite 
counsellors:  that  his  probable  conduct  was,  on  this  occasion,  a  subject  of 
general  conjecture :  Machiavelli  gives  his  own,  and  inclines  to  suspect 
the  seeming  reconciliation  of  Borgia  and  his  enemies.  It  appears  also 
that  Borgia,  instead  of  seeking  the  advice  of  Machiavelli,  never  ad- 
mitted him  to  an  audience  except  when  new  despatches  from  Florence 
rendered  it  impossible  to  refuse,  and  the  conversation  at  these  interviews 
is  fully  related.  V.  the  Leg.  al  Duca  Valent,  particularly  from  the  letter 
of  the  23d  of  October,  to  the  end  of  the  Legation. 

They  who  blame  him  for  not  having  returned  immediately  upon  the 
discovery  of  Borgia's  crime,  apart  from  the  new  principle  which  they 


MACHIAVELLI.  51 

heads  of  his  government.  The  numerous  letters  of  which  it 
is  composed,  may  be  justly  classed  among  the  most  instructive 
portions  of  his  writings.  Embracing  an  extensive  range  of 
topics,  and  prepared  in  various  and  widely  different  situations, 
they  are  marked  with  all  the  peculiarities  which  distinguish 
the  character  of  the  author.  His  political  judgment  seems 
gradually  to  extend  from  simple  and  faithful  description,  to 
skilful  details  and  sagacious  conjectures.  As  he  advances  in 
the  practice  of  his  duties,  his  descriptions  acquire  greater 
force,  and  we  meet,  from  time  to  time,  brief  and  powerful 
generalizations,  that  discover  the  increasing  vigor  and  range  of 
his  thought.  Circumstances,  events,  characters,  assume  a  new 
life  under  his  pen,  and  the  scenes  and  interests  of  the  age, 
with  all  the  doubts  and  hopes  and  anxious  conjectures,  which 
agitated  hearts  that  have  long  been  cold,  seem  to  return  like 
the  cares  and  feelings  of  the  present  hour.  It  was  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  these,  more,  perhaps,  than  in  that  of  any  of  his  other 
duties,  that  he  acquired  the  art  of  selecting  from  the  mass  of 
mingled  events,  the  particular  facts  that  give  form  and  feature 
to  history. 

i 

establish  for  ambassadors,  fall  into  two  errors :  they  forget  that  he  had 
repeatedly  solicited  a  recall,  and  been  ordered  to  remain,  —  V.  pp.  189, 
192,  231,  of  Leg.  al  D.  Val.  Opp.  Vol.  VIII. ;  secondly,  that  the  state  of 
the  roads  and  country  rendered  all  passing  difficult  and  dangerous,  — 
some  of  his  own  despatches  were  lost,  —  pp.  274,  286.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  his  escaping  to  Florence.  For  general  accounts,  v.  Guic- 
card.  Vol.  III.  p.  78,  ed.  of  Pisa,  1819.  The  note  at  the  bottom  should 
be  compared  with  Iloscoe,  Leo  X.,  V.  I.  pp.  446,  454.  Roscoe  had  evi- 
dently never  read  Machiavelli's  letters.  Whatever  he  says  of  him  must 
be  taken  with  great  deductions  for  his  glaring  prejudice. 

Ginguene's  observations  should  be  compared  with  his  own  embassy 
at  Turin.— V.  Botta  Storia  d'ltalia,  dal  1789,  Lib.  XV. 


52  MACHIAVELLT. 

The  confidence  and  favor,  with  which  Machiavelli  was 
viewed  by  his  government,  are  evident  from  the  free  recourse 
that  was  had  to  his  services  upon  all  important  occasions. 
Scarcely  was  he  returned  from  one  embassy,  when  he  was 
directed  to  prepare  for  another,  and  the  most  delicate  nego- 
tiations with  foreign  powers  were  followed  by  difficult  and 
confidential  commissions  within  the  territories  of  the  repub- 
lic. During  the  whole  course  of  his  public  life,  his  duties 
required  a  constant  state  of  activity  and  preparation,  that 
would  have  exhausted  the  energies  of  any  common  mind. 
It  was  only  while  within  the  walls  of  Florence,  that  his  situ- 
ation seems  to  have  been  ill  adapted  to  his  character.  But 
even  there  he  found  a  compensation,  and  the  familiar  knowl- 
edge that  he  acquired  of  the  nature  and  relations  of  the 
government,  and  of  its  adaptation  to  the  character  of  the  peo- 
ple, prepared  his  mind  for  the  clear  and  vigorous  views  of 
the  Florentine  histories.  Society,  also,  had  many  charms  for 
his  hours  of  occasional  leisure,  and  poetry,  "filled  up  each 
languid  pause  with  the  finer  joys  "  of  a  rich  and  classic  im- 
agination. 

In  this  succession  of  active  duties,  fourteen  years  of  his 
life  passed  rapidly  away ;  and  although  he  never  advanced 
so  far  as  to  acquire  any  direct  share  in  the  conduct  of  the 
public  councils,  his  sagacity  and  judgment  were  constantly 
employed  in  all  important  emergencies  and  difficult  negotia- 
tions. But  at  length,  a  new  storm  'began  to  gather  above 
the  devoted  walls  of  Florence,  and  the  timid  and  vacillating 
policy  of  a  single  chief,  *  again  drew  down  upon  his  country 

*  Piero  Soderini,  who  had  been  made  Gonfaloniere  for  life. 


MA.CHIAVELLI.  53 

and  himself  the  ruin  that  firmness  and  energy  might  have 
easily  averted.  The  government,  by  which  Machiavelli  had 
been  employed,  was  overthrown  by  the  arms  of  Spain,  and  the 
family  of  the  Medici,  like  the  Bourbons  of  our  own  days,  return- 
ed to  their  native  walls,  under  the  protection  of  a  foreign  ally. 
No  sooner  was  the  new  government  firmly  established,  than 
it  commenced  the  usual  train  of  persecutions  against  the  par- 
tizans  of  the  old.  Three  decrees  were  passed  against  Machi- 
avelli, within  the  course  of  ten  days.  By  the  first  two  he 
was  deprived  of  office,  and  condemned  to  a  year's  banishment 
from  the  city,  though  he  was  required  to  reside  within  a  spe- 
cified district  of  the  Florentine  territories :  but  the  third,  as  if 
proceeding  upon  maturer  deliberation,  or  procured  under  the 
influence  of  more  friendly  feelings,  exchanged  the  sentence  of 
banishment  to  a  simple  prohibition  from  entering  the  "  Public 
Palace."  Fear  and  suspicion  followed  the  secretary  into  his 
retirement,  and  his  faithful  adherence  to  the  republic  was  con- 
sidered as  a  proof  of  hatred  against  her  new  rulers.  Not- 
withstanding his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  character  of  his 
enemies,  he  knew  not  how  to  adapt  himself  to  his  change  of 
situation.  He  had  studied  public  events  too  long,  to  withdraw 
his  eyes,  at  once,  from  this  favorite  subject  of  contemplation, 
and  he  continued  his  observations  with  the  same  boldness  and 
freedom,  that  he  had  indulged  during  his  own  official  career.* 

*  Even  after  his  imprisonment,  he  writes  thus  to  his  friend,  Francesco 
Vettori :  Pure  se  io  vi  potessi  parlare,  non  potrei  fare  che  io  non  vi  era- 
piessi  il  capo  di  castellucci,  perche  la  fortuna  ha  fatto  che  non  sapendo 
ragionare  no  dell'arte  della  seta,  ne  dell'arte  della  lana,  ne  de'  guadagni, 
ne  delle  perdite,  e'  mi  conviene  ragionare  dello  stato,  e  mi  bisogna  bo- 
tarmi  di  star  cheto,  o  ragionar  di  questo.  — -  Opp.  Vol.  X,  p.  102. 

5* 


54  MACHIAVELLI. 

The  jealous  apprehensions,  which  a  more  guarded  line  of 
conduct  might  have  easily  allayed,  were  strengthened  by  this 
ill-timed  boldness  ;  and  when,  in  the  course  of  the  following 
year,  an  extensive  conspiracy  was  accidentally  discovered,  he 
was  immediately  arrested  as  a  fitting  object  of  suspicion.  The 
torture  was,  at  that  period,  indiscriminately  employed  in  all 
cases  of  arrest,  and  the  condemnation,  that  a  free  and  open 
course  of  justice  would  have  failed  to  procure,  was  often  wrung 
from  the  agonized  confessions  of  an  innocent  victim.  Six* 
shocks  of  the  cord  were  inflicted  upon  Machiavelli,  with  fruit- 
less cruelty,  and  not  a  word  escaped  him  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  agony,  that  could  be  wrested  into  a  confession  of  guilt,  or 
serve  as  an  accusation  against  others.  Unable  to  convict  him, 
they  could  still  torment ;  and,  buried  in  the  depths  of  a  loath- 
some dungeon,  his  lacerated  body  closely  bound  with  chains, 
and  his  mind  distracted  by  the  cries  of  misery  and  degrada- 
tion, that  reached  him  from  every  side,  he  was  left  to  the  slow 
torture  of  solitude  and  suspense.  Here,  also,  his  fortitude  re- 
mained unshaken,  and  his  noble  power  of  patient  endurance 
baffled  the  snares  of  his  adversaries,  and  weared  their  malig- 
nity. Even  the  sonnets,  which  he  addressed  to  Giuliano  de' 
Medici,  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  exciting  his  interest,  breathe 
an  elevated  and  independent  tone,  and  contain  a  degree  of  hu- 
morous expostulation  and  description,  which  could  not  have 
proceeded  from  a  mind  broken  or  humbled  by  misfortune. 
The  friends,  whose  affection  he  had  gained,  during  the  days 
of  his  prosperity,  gave,  in  these  moments  of  trial,  the  surest 
testimony  to  his  worth  and  their  own  sincerity  ;  and  several 

*  Con  sei  tratti  di  fane  in  sulle  spalle,  etc.  Sonn.  a  Giuliano  de'Medici. 


MACHIAVELLI.  55 

lucky  circumstances  combining  to  favor  their  exertions,  he 
was  restored  to  freedom,  after  a  short  but  rigorous  confine- 
ment* 

It  was  not,  however,  to  return  to  his  favorite  occupations, 
that  Machiavelli  issued  from  his  dungeon.  A  long  course  of 
bitter  trial  still  awaited  him  ;  poverty,  with  its  anxious  schemes 
and  depressing  cares,  the  excitements  of  hope,  the  bitterness 
of  repeated  disappointment,  and  more  than  all,  the  restless 
movements  of  a  mind  that  nature  had  formed  for  active  ex- 
ertion, and  long  habit  had  rendered  incapable  of  repose.  But 
the  resources  that  his  fortune  denied,  were,  in  part,  supplied 
by  his  own  efforts.  Anxious  to  open  a  way  of  return  to 
public  life,  on  which  he  depended  not  only  for  enjoyment,  but 
for  the  means  of  support,  he  composed  and  presented  to  Lo- 

*  It  will  not  be  uninteresting  to  observe  the  manner  in  which  Machi- 
avelli speaks  of  these  events,  for  it  shows,  both  how  he  prized  his  Roman 
fortitude,  and  that  the  simplicity  with  which  he  relates  the  remarkable 
events  of  history,  was  a  part  of  his  character. 

To  F.  Vettori,  he  writes  :  Io  sono  uscito  di  prigione  con  letizia  uni- 
versale di  questa  citta.  Ne  vi  replichero  la  lunga  istoria  di  questa  mia 
disgrazia ;  ma  vi  diro  solo  che  la  sorte  ha  fatto  ogni  cosa  per  farmi  ques- 
ta ingiuria,  pure  per  grazia  di  Dio  ella  e  passata.  Spero  non  c'incor- 
rere  piu,  si  perche  saro  piu  cauto,  si  perche  i  tempi  saranno  piu  liberali 
e  non  tanto  sospettosi.  —  Opp.  Vol.  X,  p.  97.  In  another  letter:  E 
quanto  al  volgere  il  viso  alia  fortuna,  voglio  che  abbiate  di  questi  miei 
affari  questo  piacere  che  gli  ho  portati  tanto  francamente  che  io  stesso 
mene  voglio  bene  e  parmi  essere  da  piu  che  non  credetti.  —  p.  99.  To 
a  friend  who  complained  of  his  long  silence  :  A  che  ti  rispondo,  che  io 
ho  avuto  dopo  la  tua  partita  tante  brighe  che  non  e  maraviglia  che  io 
non  ti  abbia  scritto  anzi  e  piuttosto  miracolo  che  io  sia  vivo,  perche  mi 
e  suto  tolto  l'ufizio  e  sono  stato  per  perdere  la  vita,  la  quale,  Idio  e  l'in- 
nocenza  mia  mi  ha  salvata ;  tutti  gli  altri  mali  e  di  prigione  ed'altro  ho 
sopportato,  pure  io  sto  con  la  grazia  di  Dio  bene  e  mi  vengo  vivendo 
come  io  posso,  etc.  —  p.  121,  ubi  sup. 


56  MACHIAVELLI. 

renzo  de'Medici,  the  "  Treatise  of  the  Prince,"  in  which  he 
had  endeavored  to  embody  the  results  of  his  observations  upon 
the  governments  of  his  own  times,  and  of  his  study  of  the  po- 
litical doctrines  of  the  ancients.*  The  object  for  which  he 
had  written  failed,  but  a  nobler  end  was  obtained.  He  had  en- 
tered upon  the  train  of  thought  which  was  to  lead  him  to  the 
discovery  of  so  many  important  truths,  and  his  active  mind 
could  not  rest  on  the  threshold  of  the  temple  that  it  had  opened. 
Step  by  step  he  was  led  on  to  a  more  attentive  examination 
of  his  principles,  new  truths  were  discovered,  some  erroneous 
views  were  brought  out  in  their  true  light  by  wider  applica- 
tion and  more  exact  comparison,  and  the  undertaking  which 
had  originated  in  a  strong  desire  for  public  life,  became  the 
chief  source  of  his  enjoyments,  and  was  continued  with  regu- 
lar and  progressive  improvement  until  the  last  moment  of  his 
existence. 

These  studies,  however,  were  not  sufficient  to  furnish  con- 
stant occupation  for  a  spirit  like  his,  and  the  intervals  of  severe 
labor  were  partly  filled  up  with  the  composition  of  his  come- 
dies, his  translations,  and  various  lighter  pieces,  both  in  prose 
and  in  verse.  But  much  time  still  remained,  which,  for  a 
mind  that  sought  relief  in  a  variation  of  duties,  rather  than  in 
actual  repose,  was  a  wearisome  blank  in  existence.  In  such 
moments  his  spirit  seemed  to  break,  and  his  fortitude  to  for- 
sake him,  and  it  is  impossible  to  read  his  expressions  of  pas- 

*  This  long  disputed  fact  is  placed  beyond  all  doubt  by  a  letter  to  F. 
Vettori,  which  was  unknown  to  the  early  editors.  —  V.  Op.  V.  X,  p. 
149.  It  is  also  published  in  Pignotti,  Stor.  della  Tosc.  V.  Vol.  p.  269. 
In  all  but  the  latest  editions  of  Machiavelli,  it  is  wanting. 


MACHIAVELLI.  57 

sionate  discontent,*  —  complaints  that  had  never  been  suffered 
to  escape  him  in  prison  and  in  torture,  —  without  feeling  how 
much  easier  it  is  to  face  the  bitterest  persecutions,  than  to 
support  the  long  trial  of  ingratitude  and  neglect. 

At  length,  the  gradual  progress  of  his  literary  reputation 
began  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  return  to  public  life.  His 
correspondence  with  Yettori,  the  Florentine  ambassador  at 
Rome,  had  been  communicated  to  Leo  X.,  and  that  Pontiff,  a 
liberal  if  not  a  judicious  patron  of  learning,  had,  from  time 
to  time,  encouraged  the  solitary  labors  of  Machiavelli,  by 
various  marks  of  his  favor.  He  caused  him  to  be  consult- 
ed upon  many  important  questions,  and  drew  from  him, 
through  the  medium  of  Vettori,  many  admirable  views  con- 
cerning the  most  interesting  events  of  the  period,  At  last, 
throwing  aside  the  veil  under  which  he  had  covered  his  com- 
munications with  Machiavelli,  the  Pope  invited  him  to  pre- 
pare a  plan  for  the  government  of  Florence.  This  was  shortly 
followed  by  a  mission,f  of  but  little  moment  in  itself,  but  of 
great  importance  to  him,  as  the  earnest  of  his  recall  to  his  fa- 
vorite occupations.  But  another  blow  seemed  to  await  him  at 
the  first  revival  of  his  hopes,  and  before  any  fixed  establish- 
ment had  assured  him  of  the  permanence  of  his  restoration  to 
public  life,  Leo  X.  was  suddenly  cut  off  in  the  prime  of  his  ca- 
reer. Thus  deprived  of  a  protector,  who  although  slow  to 
grant  him  confidence,  had  been  ready  to  acknowledge  his 

*  See,  for  example,  pp.  171,  196,  Vol.  X. 

t  His  correspondence  with  Guicciardini,  during  this  mission,  presents 
a  very  amusing  picture  of  these  grave  historians.  V.  M.  Op.  Vol.  X, 
pp.  199,  to  207,  inclusive. 


58  MACHIAVELLI. 

merit,  Machiavelli  remained  for  a  short  time  in  the  greatest 
uncertainty.  Another  mission,  however,  of  a  more  important 
nature,  was  soon  confided  to  him  by  one  of  the  principal  cor- 
porations of  the  city,  and  while  engaged  at  Venice  in  the  ne- 
gotiations for  its  fulfilment,  he  received  the  welcome  tidings 
that  his  name  had  been  once  more  inserted  among  those  of 
the  citizens  that  were  held  eligible  to  office. 

The  successor  of  Leo  did  not  long  continue  to  enjoy  his 
dignity ;  and  upon  his  death,  the  Cardinal  de'Medici  was  ele- 
vated to  the  papal  chair,  with  the  title  of  Clement  VII.  In 
him  Machiavelli  found  a  firm  and  constant  protector,  and  the 
most  important  portion  of  his  political  career  now  opened  be- 
fore him.  The  experience  of  his  early  life  had  been  matured 
by  a  long  course  of  study,  and  he  returned  to  the  field  of  his 
youthful  exploits,  with  a  skill  perfected  by  assiduous  labor,  and 
an  influence  strengthened  and  extended  by  the  splendor  of  his 
literary  reputation.*  It  is  not  without  regret,  that  we  pass 
over  the  details  of  this  period;  for  the  profound  judgment,  the 
quick  perception,  the  thorough  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
which  distinguish  the  character  of  Machiavelli,  appear  in  his 
later  negotiations  united  with  an  unvarying  boldness  of  pur- 
pose and  energy  of  mind,  which  show  how  well  he  was  formed 
by  nature  to  govern  the  mighty  movements,  which  fortune 
had  condemned  him  simply  to  contemplate  and  record.  Mel- 
ancholy, however,  wa3  the  scene  on  which  he  was  employed : 
war  and  unbridled  barbarity  without,  the  horrors  of  a  de- 
structive pestilence,  with  terror  and  contention  within.     But 

# Che  vedi  quanto  onore  fa  a  me  un  poco  di  virtCi  che  io  ho. 

Lett  al  figlio.    Op.  Vol.  X,  p.  257. 


MACHIAVELLI.  59 

the  fulness  of  these  calamities  was  hidden  from  his  view,  and 
before  the  half  of  his  dark  anticipations  had  been  realized,  he 
sunk  a  prey  to  the  united  efforts  of  disease,  exhaustion,  and 
grief,  on  the  22d  of  June,  1527. 

None  of  the  political  writings  of  Machiavelli  were  printed 
during  his  life  ;*  but  the  copies  which  had  been  prepared  for 
the  use  of  his  friends,  or  of  the  patrons  to  whom  particular 
portions  were  dedicated,  had  been  freely  circulated  in  manu- 
script both  in  Florence  and  in  Rome.  Within  a  few  years, 
however,  after  his  death,  all  his  larger  works  were  printed, 
and  obtaining  extensive  circulation,  soon  gave  rise  to  that  vio- 
lent controversy  which  has  been  continued,  with  very  little 
increase  of  judgment,  or  diminution  of  virulence,  during  the 
course  of  three  centuries.f  The  first  to  commence  this  war- 
fare against  the  supposed  doctrines  of  Machiavelli,  was  the 
celebrated  Cardinal  Pole,  who,  in  his  conversation  and  in  his 
writings,  assailed  with  great  vehemence  the  principles  of  the 
"  Prince."  This  attack  was  followed,  in  a  few  years,  by  a 
violent  dissertation  of  the  Bishop  Caterino  Politi.  A  French 
protestant,  Innocent  Gentiletto,  next  entered  the  lists,  and  un- 
dertook, in  an  extensive  latin  treatise,  to  refute  the  obnoxious 
doctrines  one  by  one.  The  warfare,  thus  commenced,  was 
continued  with  a  virulence  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  find  the 
parallel ;  and  men  of  every  class  and  of  opposite  principles, 
princes  and  their  subjects,  statesmen  and  theologians,   the 

*  The  Arte  della  Guerra  was  printed  by  the  Ginnti  16  Aug.  1521. 

t  A  very  able  sketch  of  this  controversy,  may  be  found  in  the  learned 
preface  to  the  edition  of  Machiavelli,  to  which  we  have  referred  above, 
A  full  and  satisfactory  history  is  given  in  the  second  volume  of  Artaud. 
p.  287,  and  seq. 


bU  MACHIAVELLI. 

blindest  partizans  of  absolute  power  and  the  most  enthusiastic 
champions  of  freedom  of  opinion,  have  united  in  the  reproach, 
and  confirmed  the  condemnation. 

Amid  the  violence  of  controversy  there  is  little  room  for 
the  calmer  decisions  of  judgment.  The  contest  for  truth  can 
hardly  be  carried  on  without  awakening  the  pride  of  human 
reason ;  and  no  sooner  does  this  feeling  become  excited  on 
either  side,  than  the  antagonists,  like  foes,  at  the  decisive  mo- 
ment of  battle,  lose  every  other  sentiment  in  the  eager  desire 
of  success.  Thus,  in  the  Machiavellian  controversy,  what 
was  first  advanced  as  a  sincere  opinion,  was  at  last  maintained 
as  a  point  of  character.  Each  successive  writer  readily  adopted 
the  assertions  of  his  party,  and  enlarged  them  with  comments 
and  deductions  of  his  own.  Detached  sentences,  idle  rumors, 
the  vile  inventions  of  party  spirit,  usurped  the  place  of  his- 
torical documents,  until  the  mass  of  falsehood  and  calumny 
became  accumulated  to  a  degree  that  almost  baffled  the  honest 
exertions  of  patient  research. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  that  some  should  not  be  found 
among  the  higher  intellects  of  every  age,  who  were  able  to 
understand  and  appreciate  the  genius  of  Machiavelli.  By  some, 
many  of  his  views  have  been  silently  adopted,  without  any 
acknowledgment  of  the  source  from  which  they  were  drawn ; 
others  have  been  contented  with  a  passing  comment,  while  a 
few  have  boldly  advanced  into  the  arena,  and  warmly  engaged 
in  the  defence  both  of  his  writings  and  of  his  character.  But 
unfortunately  for  the  success  of  these  last,  they  seem  to  have 
thought  it  necessary  for  his  vindication,  that  some  mystic 
reason  should  be  assigned  for  the  composition  of  the  Prince, 


MACHIAVELLI.  61 

and  have  thus  been  led  to  form  contradictory  and  improbable 
theories,  which  they  have  supported  with  all  the  force  of  argu- 
ment and  the  zeal  of  controversy.  Some  have  discovered  in 
the  Prince  a  bold  and  faithful  picture  of  a  tyrant,  prepared,  not 
to  guide  the  steps  of  a  monarch,  but  to  enlighten  the  minds  of 
his  subjects.  *  To  others  it  has  seemed  a  cunning  and  deep 
laid  snare,  coolly  formed  for  the  destruction  of  the  Medici. 
While  a  few,  struck  with  the  evident  discordance  between 
some  parts  of  the  Prince  and  the  other  works  of  Machiavelli, 
and  exaggerating  the  satirical  cast  of  particular  portions  of  his 
writings,  have  supposed  him  to  have  been  a  disappointed  spirit, 
whose  pictures  of  life  were  shaded  with  the  darkness  of  his 
own  misanthropy. 

All  these  opinions  seem  equally  extravagant,  and  have  little 
foundation  either  in  the  character  of  Machiavelli,  or  in  the 
common  principles  of  human  nature.  A  picture  prepared  for 
the  people,  would  hardly  have  been  consigned  to  the  custody 
of  a  single  individual,  and  least  of  all,  to  that  of  him  who 
would  have  the  most  to  apprehend  from  its  publicity.  A  long 
life  devoted  to  some  single  and  distant  object,  with  views  ex- 
tending into  futurity, — toils  and  snares,  prepared  to  act  at  some 
far  off  and  uncertain  period, — these  may  be  far  more  easily 
found  in  the  dreams  of  romance  than  in  the  sober  annals  of 
actual  history.  The  last  theory,  —  the  supposition  that  his 
works  contain  a  satirical  picture  of  life,  —  although  grounded 

*  Rousseau,  —  Cont.  Soc.  Oeuv.  Tom.  V.  p.  204.  D'Alembert  seems 
to  have  thought  the  same  form  of  apology  necessary,  in  order  to  ex- 
plain some  parts  of  the  Spirit  of  Laws,  Vol.  Anal,  de  l'Esp.  des  Lois 
pour  servir  de  suite  a  Peloge  de  Mons.  de  Montesq.  Oeuv.  Tom.  I, 
p.  104. 

6 


62  MACHIAVELLI. 

by  its  advocates  upon  his  character  and  the  cast  of  some  of 
his  writings,  is  fully  refuted  by  the  general  features  of  both. 
Rarely,  indeed,  will  it  be  found,  that  subtle  theories  can  be 
applied  to  the  motives  of  human  action. 

But,  at  last,  the  moment  arrived  which  was  to  furnish  a 
surer  guide  to  his  real  views,  and  the  defence  was  to  proceed 
from  the  best  interpreter  of  the  feelings  and  motives  of  every 
man, — his  own  correspondence.      The  diligence  and  zeal 
which  have  always  characterized  the  scholars  of  Italy,  had 
never  been  directed  to  an  examination  of  the  manuscripts  of 
Machiavelli,  and,  as  if  the  ingratitude  that  embittered  his  life 
had  not  sufficed,  the  only  pieces  which  could  afford  a  full 
refutation  of  the  calumnies  of  his  enemies,  were  suffered  to 
moulder  in  neglect,  while  dusty  codices,  and  even  whole  libra- 
ries, were  searched  to  discover  a  new  reading,  or  establish  a 
disputed  passage  in  the  Decameron.     The  first  of  his  inedited 
essays  that  was  brought  to  light,  was  a  small  dialogue  upon  the 
Italian  language,  which  was  published  by  Giovanni  Bottari,  in 
1730.    After  an  interval  of  thirty  years,  the  discourse  address- 
ed to  Leo  X.  upon  the  government  of  Florence,  with  several 
letters  of  great  interest  and  importance,  were  discovered  in 
the  Gaddian  library,  and  published  in  the  city  of  Lucca. 
Other  discoveries  soon  followed,  and  shortly  after  the  publica- 
tions at  Lucca,  his  official  despatches  to  the  Florentine  gov- 
ernment were  recovered,  and  his  important  services  as  a  faith- 
ful and  confidential  ambassador  of  the  Republic,  were,  for  the 
first  time,  established  upon  full  and  incontrovertible  documents. 
These  writings,  so  important  to  the  character  of  their  author, 
and  so  interesting  in  a  country  where  literary  curiosity  is 


MACHIAVELLI.  63 

carried  to  an  extent  that  can  hardly  be  conceived  in  America, 
excited  the  attention  of  the  Florentine  literati  to  the  highest 
degree,  and  gave  rise  to  a  careful  preparation  of  a  new  edition 
of  his  works.  This  was  partly  accomplished  in  1782 ;  but  new 
discoveries  in  the  following  years  led  to  a  more  exact  collection 
by  the  same  editors,  and  it  was  not  until  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century,  that  the  presses  of  Italy  began  to  multiply 
fuller  and  more  correct  editions  of  the  works  of  the  greatest  of 
their  philosophers.  * 

Nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the  aspect  in  which 
Machiavelli  now  appears ;  the  dark  coloring  with  which  cal- 
umny had  surrounded  him,  has  passed  away ;  he  comes  be- 
fore us  as  the  dignified  and  faithful  ambassador  of  his  country, 
the  innocent  and  unbending  victim  of  arbitrary  power,  the 
versatile  genius,  who,  by  the  energies  of  his  own  mind,  re- 
opened the  path,  which  an  unrelenting  destiny  had  closed  be- 
fore him.  We  seem  to  have  met  with  some  familiar  friend, 
who  brings  us  into  the  privacy  of  his  domestic  life,  and  while 
he  amuses  our  curiosity  with  characteristic  anecdotes,  discovers 

*  This  work,  however,  is  still  incomplete.  A  large  number  of  man- 
uscripts, composed  of  familiar  and  public  letters,  were  treacherously 
6old  to  an  English  nobleman  and  are  still  preserved  in  England.  Nic- 
colini,  who  had  seen  some  of  them,  previous  to  their  removal  from 
Florence,  has  assured  me  that  there  are  pieces  among  them  which 
place  the  domestic  character  of  Machiavelli  in  a  new  and  highly  inter- 
esting light. 

Other  manuscripts  together  with  the  letters  addressed  to  Machiavelli 
by  the  Florentine  government,  are  preserved  in  the  Palatine  library  of 
Florence.  A  complete  edition  of  them  had  been  projected  by  Molini 
and  Montani  —  the  death  of  the  latter  and  retirement  of  the  former  from 
his  post  of  librarian  to  the  Grand  Duke,  prevented  the  accomplishment 
of  this  important  undertaking. 


64  MACHIAVELLI. 

at  every  step  the  excellence  of  his  heart  and  the  fervor  of  his 
affections. 

But  one  of  the  most  important  consequences  which  results 
from  these  discoveries,  is  the  view  which  they  give  of  the 
writings  of  Machiavelli,  as  a  series  of  connected  studies,  and 
of  principles  progressively  formed,  illustrated  and  corrected.  * 
Conjecture  and  theory  concerning  the  motives  which  guided 
him  are  thus  rendered  comparatively  useless,  and  the  question 
becomes  reduced  to  a  simple  examination  of  the  principles 
which  he  professed  in  the  maturity  of  his  judgment.  No  man 
can  be  condemned  for  errors,  which  he  is  the  first  to  reject, 
or  accused  of  teaching  doctrines,  which  are  at  variance  with 
the  whole  tenor  of  his  writings.  It  would  be  easy  to  prove 
by  detached  passages  that  Gibbon  was  a  Christian  and  Hume 
a  Liberal,  and  yet  we  should  hardly  trust  the  ' Decline  and 
Fall '  to  a  mind  whose  convictions  were  not  strong  enough  to 
find  within  itself  an  antidote  for  the  sophistry  of  the  great 
historian,  or  recommend  the  <  History  of  England'  to  a  reader 
who  was  wavering  between  progress  and  conservatism.  The 
development  of  the  individual,  like  that  of  the  mass,  is  pro- 
gressive, and  it  is  not  the  adoption  of  error  but  the  adherence 
to  it  that  calls  for  condemnation.  The  '  Prince '  was  Machia- 
velli's  first  work  —  the  earliest  and  most  imperfect  result  of 
his  inquiries  into  the  science  of  government.  It  contains  im- 
portant truths,  but  it  also  contains  dangerous  errors.  The 
former  have  been  developed,  the  latter,  in  a  great  measure, 
corrected  in  his  later  works.     With  what  justice  then,  can  we 

*  Artaud  was  the  first  to  perceive  this  connection. 


MACHIAVELLI.  65 

take  this  alone  for  the  true  standard  of  his  doctrines  ?  *  The 
Prince,  then,  must  resume  its  place  as  the  earliest  and  most 
imperfect  result  of  his  studies,  while  the  Discourses  and  Flor- 
entine Histories,  in  which  he  has  retracted  the  greater  part  of 
what  was  false  in  the  Prince,  become  the  true  standards  of  his 
character  and  of  his  principles. 

A  full  justification,  therefore,  of  the  character  of  Machiavelli 
would  require  an  extensive  examination  and  accurate  analysis 
of  all  his  writings.  The  limits,  however,  of  the  present  arti- 
cle will  only  admit  of  an  imperfect  sketch  of  his  three  principal 
works. 

The  first  in  order  of  time,  is  the  treatise,  which  commenta- 
tors and  editors  have  distinguished  by  the  improper  title  of 
the  Prince,  but  which  was  indiscriminately  called  by  its  au- 
thor, A  Treatise  of  monarchical  governments,  —  of  Princes,  or 
simply  of  the  Prince,  f  His  object  in  this  treatise,  was  to  de- 
scribe the  nature  and  resources  of  some  of  the  common  forms 
of  absolute  monarchy,  in  the  same  manner  in  which  he  after- 
wards described  in  the  Discourses  the  character  of  republican 
governments.  The  commencement  of  the  work  shows  with 
sufficient  precision,  the  point  of  view  under  which  he  proposed 
to  consider  his  subject. 

He  divides  monarchies  into  different  classes,  according  to 
the  nature  of  their  origin.     Some  are  hereditary,  —  others  the 

*  Stewart  in  his  '  Progress  of  Ethical  and  Political  Philosophy '  speaks 
of  this  as  the  latest  and  maturest  of  Machiavelli's  writings. 

t  Disputes  concerning  titles  are  seldom  worthy  of  much  attention,  — 
but  the  editors  seem,  in  this  instance,  to  have  adopted  the  title  which 
favored  most  the  idea  so  strongly  supported  by  some,  that  this  work  was 
designed  as  a  model  for  tyrants.    Vide  Artaud. 

6* 


66  MACHIAVELLI. 

fruit  of  conquest.  Here,  also,  we  find  a  new  division,  for  the 
conquered  territory  may.be  an  addition  to  an  original  patri- 
mony, or  it  may  be  the  first  step  of  an  ambitious  leader  towards 
absolute  power.  In  either  case,  the  conquest  is  the  effect 
either  of  arms,  of  fortune,  or  of  individual  talent,  according 
as  the  people  over  whom  it  is  made  have  been  accustomed  to 
a  free  or  to  a  monarchical  government. 

From  these  original  distinctions  arise  peculiar  relations  be- 
tween the  prince  and  the  subject,  which,  in  turn,  require  from 
the  prince  peculiar  modes  of  government,  varying  in  difficulty 
according  to  the  origin  of  his  power. 

Having  thus  explained  the  ground  of  his  classification,  he 
enters  into  a  full  examination  of  the  distinctions  that  he  has 
made ;  he  explains  the  nature  and  degree  of  the  difficulties 
against  which  princes  have  to  contend,  in  each  situation ;  he 
shows  how  they  may  be  avoided,  or  in  what  manner  they  may 
best  be  overcome,  and  illustrates  his  observations  by  clear  and 
animated  sketches,  from  ancient  and  modern  history. 

He  next  examines  with  equal  fulness  of  detail,  the  modes 
of  offence  and  defence,  which  are  common  to  these  different 
forms  of  government.  He,  here,  first  assumes  as  an  undeni- 
able truth,  that  good  laws  and  good  arms  are  the  principal 
foundations  of  every  state,  and  then  proceeding  to  explain  the 
nature  of  the  different  kinds  of  troops,  he  describes  in  power- 
ful language  the  destruction  that  inevitably  follows  all  reliance 
upon  mercenary  or  auxiliary  power.  Few  men  of  the  present 
day  will  deny  the  justness  of  his  conclusions,  or  refuse  their 
admiration  to  the  warmth  with  which  he  traces  the  destructive 
progress  of  the  power  of  the  condottieri,  and  the  abandonment 


MACHIAVELLI.  67 

of  a  citizen  soldiery ;  but  every  reader  familiar  with  the  mili- 
tary history  of  Italy,  will  perceive  that  in  these  chapters, 
Machiavelli  was  contending  against  one  of  the  strongest  pre- 
judices of  his  age. 

The  remainder  of  the  work,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
pages,  is  devoted  to  an  examination  of  some  of  the  personal 
qualities  of  a  prince.  True  morality  will  unhesitatingly  con- 
demn two  of  the  principles  that  he  admits,  —  dissimulation 
and  a  disregard  of  faith,  when  its  observance  is  opposed  to  the 
true  interests  of  the  state ;  but  the  practice  of  every  govern- 
ment, not  only  in  ancient  but  in  modern  times,  and  even  in 
our  own  golden  period  of  moral  profession,  presents  a  striking 
commentary  upon  the  text  of  Machiavelli.  Most  of  the  other 
principles  of  these  chapters  are  above  all  reproach.  A  prince 
should  be  economical,  for  economy  not  only  contributes  to  his 
means  of  success,  but  preserves  him  from  the  necessity  of  be- 
coming the  oppressor  of  his  subjects.  He  should  be  severely 
just,  for  although  rigid  justice  is  often  mistaken  for  cruelty,  it 
is  still  the  surest  path  to  mercy.  If  compelled  to  choose  be- 
tween the  fear  and  the  love  of  his  subjects,  he  should  guard 
against  their  hatred,  by  a  cautious  observance  of  their  rights, 
and  by  never  departing  from  the  laws  of  the  strictest  justice; 
but,  in  all  cases,  he  should  constantly  remember,  that  the  love 
of  the  people  is  the  only  protection  of  the  ruler.  He  should 
preserve  respect  for  religion,  should  cultivate  boldness  and 
decision  of  character,  —  should  studiously  avoid  the  corrup- 
tions of  flattery,  and  labor  to  secure  the  free  advice  of  wise 
and  experienced  counsellors.  Enterprise  and  industry  should 
be  encouraged ;  the  development  of  genius  should  be  promoted 


68  MACHIAVELLI. 

by  a  wise  distribution  of  rewards  and  privileges  ;  and,  finally, 
by  the  institution  of  public  festivals  and  games,  the  ruler 
should  endeavor  to  diffuse  throughout  his  dominions,  a  spirit 
of  gaiety  and  contentment. 

The  Discourses  on  the  first  Decade  of  Livy,  which  followed 
the  composition  of  the  Prince,  after  the  interval  of  a  year, 
were  written,  partly  in  order  to  develop  the  author's  views 
concerning  some  principles  of  republican  government,  and 
partly  in  compliance  with  the  request  of  his  friends,  Buondel- 
monti  and  Ruccellai,  in  the  latter  of  whose  gardens  they  are 
said  to  have  been  recited  to  the  young  men  of  Florence. 
They  are  divided  into  three  books,  with  a  subdivision  of  chap- 
ters. In  each  book,  the  most  interesting  events  of  the  first 
Decade  are  considered  under  a  particular  point  of  view.  The 
first  book  is  devoted  to  an  examination  of  the  domestic  gov- 
ernment of  Rome ;  the  second,  to  that  of  the  means  by  which 
the  power  of  the  republic  was  extended  and  preserved  with- 
out the  city ;  while  the  third  passes  in  review,  one  by  one, 
particular  actions  of  private  individuals,  in  order  to  examine 
their  influence  upon  the  progress  of  power,  and  upon  the 
moral  character  of  the  nation.  In  each  chapter  of  these 
books,  some  fact  of  the  first  Decade  is  treated  with  more  or 
less  fulness  of  detail,  according  to  the  degree  of  its  impor- 
tance, and  in  most  of  them  the  author  endeavors  to  establish 
some  principle  of  practical  utility  for  the  governments  of  his 
own  times.  The  most  important  of  these  principles  are  sup- 
ported by  parallel  facts  of  contemporaneous  history;  and 
throughout  the  whole  work,  he  labors  to  prove  that  the  revo- 
lutions of  power  in  every  age  have  depended  upon  causes 


MACHIAVELLI.  69 

which  were  similar  in  themselves,  although  variously  modified 
by  circumstances  peculiar  to  the  nation  or  the  period.  His 
deductions  are,  in  most  cases,  strictly  logical,  and  the  conduct 
and  development  of  his  arguments,  clear,  rapid  and  strong. 
New  ideas  arise  at  every  instant  under  his  pen,  and  he  scat- 
ters over  the  mind,  as  he  advances,  the  seeds  of  vigorous  and 
active  thought.  The  reader,  whose  study  of  legislation  has 
been  confined  to  the  works  of  later  philosophers,  will  be  sur- 
prised to  meet  in  the  Discourses  many  principles  and  obser- 
vations, the  acuteness  and  profundity  of  which,  he  has  been 
accustomed  to  attribute  to  a  very  different  source.*  The 
extent  and  variety  of  the  subject  naturally  lead  to  a  review 
of  some  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Prince,  and  a  careful  com- 
parison of  both  works  will  show  how  far  the  views  of  the 
author  had  changed  concerning  some  of  the  principles  that 
debase  the  former.  A  few,  but  a  very  few,  were  too  deeply 
rooted  in  the  character, — might  we  not  say,  in  the  necessities 
of  the  age?  N 

In  neither,  however,  of  these  works,  does  Machiavelli  at- 
tempt to  give  a  full  treatise  of  legislation. ,  They  contain  im- 
portant developments  of  particular  principles,  which  he  pos- 
sessed neither  the  leisure  nor  the  means  to  combine,  and  by 
filling  up  the  vacant  spaces,  and  nicely  adjusting  the  separate 
parts,  to  form  into  a  complete  and  regular  system.  Such  a 
work  would  undoubtedly  have  given  a  different  character  to 
his  earlier  writings,  and  secured  him,  in  part,  from  the  deep 
obloquy  under  which  his  name  has  so  unjustly  lain.     But  it 

*  Historians  also  have  found  this  a  convenient  foraging  ground,  and 
more  than  one  modern  classic  shines  in  the  plumage  of  Machiavelli. 


70  MA.CHIAVELLI. 

cannot  be  supposed  that  a  perfect  system  of  legislation  could 
have  been  formed  even  by  the  noblest  genius  of  such  an  age.* 
The  progress  of  society,  the  development  of  civilization  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  afforded  not  the  facts  upon  which  such 
a  system  could  be  founded.  The  principles  of  constitutional 
monarchy,  the  great  laws  of  individual  right  were  unknown. 
The  government  of  France,  so  highly  commended  by  some 
writers  of  that  period,  was  little  better  than  a  division  of 
arbitrary  power,  in  which  the  interests  of  the  many  were 
sacrificed  to  the  caprices  of  the  few.  The  constitution  of 
England  was  slowly  forming  amid  the  jealousies  and  strug- 
gles of  contending  parties;  but  what  contemporaneous  eye 
could  discern,  in  the  shapeless  fragments  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, the  beautiful  fabric  which  became  the  admiration  and 
envy  of  the  eighteenth  ?  Political  truths  are  the  results  of 
the  study  and  analysis  of  past  events.  Every  age  contributes, 
more  or  less,  to  the  collection,  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of 
its  advancement  in  civilization.  Constitutional  monarchy 
was  the  legacy  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  constitutional  re- 
publics, on  the  broadest  scale,  were  the  discovery  of  the 
eighteenth ;  political  economy,  the  doctrines  of  criminal  law, 
are  daily  advancing  toward  perfection,  and  who  can  tell  what 
seeds  of  unknown  truth  may  be  ripening  with  them,  amid  the 
comparative  peace  and  tranquillity  of  our  own  age  ?  It  was 
no  greater  step  in  France,  from  the  iron  sceptre  of  Lewis 
the  Great,  to  the  constitutional  throne  of  Lewis  Philip,  than 

*  Le  plus  rare  g6nie  est  toujours  en  rapport  avec  les  lumieres  de  ses 
contemporains  et  Ton  doit  calculer,  a-peu-pres,  de  combien  la  pensee  d' 
un  homme  peut  d6passer  les  connoissances  de  son  temps.  De  Stael  — 
De  la  Literature.  Tom.  I,  p.  93. 


MACHIAVELLI. 


71 


from  the  present  state  of  political  science,  to  some  degree  of 
perfection  that  we  know  not  of.  Where,  then,  will  be  the 
vaunted  systems  of  our  own  days  ?  Where  the  discoveries  of 
our  philosophy  ?  Mingled  with  the  mass  of  earlier  systems, 
where  each,  divested  of  its  imagined  perfection,  will  contribute 
its  respective  share  of  truth,  to  swell  the  progressive  science 
of  ages. 

Viewing  this  subject  as  we  do,  it  is  for  us,  rather  a  source 
of  congratulation  than  of  regret,  that  the  attention  of  Machia- 
velli  was  confined  to  particular  portions  of  political  science. 
The  politics  of  his  own  age  are  thus  explained,  with  clearness 
and  precision ;  the  received  opinions  of  antiquity  are  connected 
with  those  of  the  earlier  periods  of  modern  civilization,  and 
while  the  utility  of  some  parts  is  limited  to  the  light  which 
they  throw  upon  history,  others  are  filled  with  those  great  and 
permanent  truths,  which  are  addressed  to  the  statesman  of 
every  nation  and  of  every  age. 

It  was  not  until  several  years  after  the  termination  of  the 
Discourses,  that  Machiavelli  entered  upon  a  new  field,  in  his 
Florentine  Histories.  A  great  portion,  however,  of  this  inter- 
val was  employed  in  the  studies  and  observations,  that  were 
essential  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  design,  and  his  former 
labors,  both  as  an  author,  and  as  secretary  to  the  republic,  had 
prepared  him  to  engage  in  the  task  with  bolder  and  more 
elevated  views  than  had  guided  the  steps  of  any  preceding 
historian.  His  original  design  was  confined  to  the  history  of 
Florence,  from  the  rise  of  the  power  of  the  Medici,  until  his 
own  times ;  but  an  attentive  examination  of  the  works  of  the 
earlier  historians  of  the  republic,  convinced  him  that  the  most 


72  MACHIAVELLI. 

important  portion  of  its  history  had  not  been  treated  with  that 
accuracy  and  fulness  of  detail,  which  it  deserved.  *  The  ex- 
ternal wars  of  Florence  contained,  in  his  view,  none  of  the 
important  lessons  which  make  history  the  surest  school  of 
wisdom.  It  was  in  the  detail  of  the  civil  feuds  and  domestic 
revolutions  of  his  country,  that  he  sought  the  secret  of  her 
prosperity,  and  the  cause  of  her  decline;  it  was  only,  there- 
fore, by  a  full  and  faithful  delineation  of  these,  that  he  could 
accomplish  the  great  end  which  he  proposed. 

Accordingly,  departing  from  his  original  plan,  he  first  traces, 
in  a  rapid  and  animated  narrative,  the  revolutions  which  fol- 
lowed in  swift  succession  throughout  every  part  of  Italy,  from 
the  reign  of  Theodosius,  until  the  termination  of  the  papal 
schism  at  the  Council  of  Constance.  The  history  that  he  is 
preparing  to  relate,  is  thus  connected  with  the  history  of  the 
fall  of  the  Empire,  and  by  following  the  progress  of  the  states, 
which  are  so  intimately  connected  with  Florentine  history,  we 
are  enabled  to  understand  the  causes  of  many  peculiar  features 
in  the  character  and  revolutions  of  the  latter,  f  He  then  re- 
traces the  ground  over  which  his  predecessors  had  so  carelessly 
trodden,  and  describes,  with  well  apportioned  fulness  of  detail, 
the  domestic  history  of  the  republic,  from  the  foundation  of  the 
city,  until  the  rise  of  the  Medici,  in  fourteen  hundred  thirty- 
four,  interweaving  with  his  narration  such  portions  of  external 
history  as  serve  by  their  connection,  to  throw  a  clearer  light 
upon  the  events  that  he  was  relating.     From  this  last  period, 

*  Vide  Prefazione  alle  Storie  Florentine  —  pass, 
t  This  form  of  introduction  is  supposed  to  have  suggested  to  Robert- 
son, the  idea  of  his  beautiful  introduction  to  Charles  V. 


MACHIAVELLI.  73 

both  the  internal  and  external  history  are  united  in  a  full  nar- 
rative, which  extends  to  the  death  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent, 
in  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety-two. 

The  merit  of  acute  and  vigorous  thought,  which  character- 
izes all  the  productions  of  Machiavelli,  is  enhanced,  in  the 
Florentine  Histories,  by  the  skill  with  which  he  arranges  his 
subject  and  conducts  his  narrative.  The  transitions  are  gen- 
erally easy  and  natural,  and  the  charm  of  the  story  is 
preserved  by  the  peculiar  art  with  which  he  interweaves  his 
generalization  with  the  facts  from  which  it  proceeds,  and 
sometimes  even  with  the  sentence  that  records  it.  For  the 
most  important,  however,  of  these  remarks,  a  particular  place 
has  been  reserved  at  the  commencement  of  each  book,  where 
they  serve  as  a  general  introduction  to  the  portion  that  fol- 
lows. Some  of  the  most  interesting  questions  are  here  treat- 
ed with  an  energy  and  justness  of  thought,  which  surpass 
anything  in  even  the  best  chapters  of  the  Discourses,  and  with 
the  peculiar  and  powerful  logic,  which  distinguishes  all  the 
works  of  Machiavelli.  If  it  were  possible  to  judge  a  mind  like 
his  by  detached  passages  and  fragments  of  his  general  train  of 
thought,  no  part  of  his  writings  could  be  selected  with  so  much 
propriety,  as  the  introductions  to  the  books  of  the  Florentine 
Histories. 

No  work,  if  we  except  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio,  has 
exercised  upon  Italian  prose,  the  same  degree  of  influence  as 
this.  But  while  Boccaccio,  misguided  by  his  veneration  for 
the  Latin,  labored  to  form  his  style  upon  the  arbitrary  inver- 
sions and  periodic  sentences  of  the  Roman  classics,  Machiavelli, 
with  a  juster  appreciation  of  the  genius  of  the  Italian,  adopted 

7 


74  MACHIAVELLI. 

a  simpler  and  more  pleasing  course,  equally  free  from  the 
inversions  of  the  fourteenth  century  and  the  gallicisms  of  the 
eighteenth.  The  language  of  the  purer  writers  of  Italy  has 
continued  to  our  own  times,  as  it  was  left  them  by  Machiavelli, 
and  his  works  possess  nearly  the  same  freshness  of  expression, 
which  characterizes  in  our  own  language,  the  prose  of  Dryden 
and  of  Addison.  * 

The  Art  of  War  was  composed  before  the  completion  of 
the  Florentine  Histories.  Like  many  of  the  works  of  the 
ancient  philosophers,  it  is  written  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue, 
in  which  the  principles  of  the  science  are  developed  by  the 
chief  interlocutor,  while  an  air  of  easy  vivacity  is  spread  over 
the  whole  piece,  by  the  questions  and  remarks  of  the  others. 
The  merit  of  this  work  has  been  placed  in  a  clear  light  by 
the  letters  of  Count  Algarotti,  and  when  we  reflect  that  they 
were  written  at  the  court  of  Frederick  the  Great,  by  a  man 
cherished  and  honored  for  the  brilliancy  of  his  own  genius, 
we  shall  ask  no  higher  testimony  to  the  military  genius  of 
Machiavelli. 

It  is  a  singular  step  from  the  gravity  of  the  historian  and 
the  profound  reasonings  of  the  statesman,  to  the  airy  dreams 
of  poetry  and  the  keenness  of  comic  wit.  But  were  anything 
more  than  a  general  outline  compatible  with  the  plan  of  the 
present  paper,  we  should  now  be  called  to  trace  the  steps  of 

*Aveano  fissato  la  lingua;  —  mentre  sono  appasiti  tanti  scrittori, 
anche  assai  a  lui  posteriori,  lo  stile  di  Machiavelli  si  mantiene  dopo  circa 
a  tre  secoli  fresco,  come  nacque,  e  le  frasi  di  cui  fece  uso,  sono  quelle 
che  ancora  si  adoperano.  Pignotti  Sto.  della  Tosc.  Vol.  VI,  p.  18. 
This  observation,  which  ought  only  to  have  been  hazarded  upon  the 
authority  of  an  Italian,  has  since  been  confirmed  to  me  by  Botta  and 
Niccolini. 


MACHIAVELLI.  75 

Machiavelli  in  these  new  and  difficult  paths.  Poetry  was  for 
him  both  a  solace  and  a  recreation,  and  many  of  the  produc- 
tions of  his  muse  are  strongly  marked  with  the  feelings  that 
inspired  them.  *  He  sought  relief  in  his  lyre  from  the  stings  of 
envy  and  the  relentlessness  of  persecution,  and  when  wearied 
with  deeper  and  graver  thought,  refreshed  his  mind  and  re- 
stored his  strength  by  the  cheerful  creations  of  fancy.  In 
comedy  he  continued,  under  another  form,  his  favorite  study 
of  man,  and  although  the  subsequent  progress  of  the  art  has 
given  greater  perfection  to  the  development  of  plot  and  to  the 
general  management  of  character,  no  writer  has  ever  sur- 
passed him  in  comic  power  and  in  faithfully  portraying  the 
follies  and  vices  of  his  age.  Nor  is  the  original  cast  of  his 
mind  less  evident  in  these  portions  of  his  writings,  than  in  his 
graver  and  more  elaborate  productions.  Energy,  vivacity 
and  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature  are  still  his  most 
striking  characteristics,  whether  we  consider  him  as  a  poet,  as 
a  dramatist  or  as  a  statesman. 

The  style  of  Machiavelli  is  of  a  kind,  of  which  foreigners 
can  in  part,  perceive  and  appreciate  the  beauty,  f     Uniting 


il  viver  mal  contento 


Pel  dente  dell'  invidia,  che  mi  morde, 
Mi  darebbe  piii  doglia  e  piu  tormento ; 
Se  non  fusse  che  ancor  le  dolci  corde 
D'una  mia  cetra  che  soave  suona, 
Fanno  le  muse  al  mio  cantar  non  sorde. 

Capit.  dell'  Ingratitudine,  Op.  Vol.  VII,  p.  372. 

t  This  style,  however,  so  easy  and  natural  in  appearance,  was  the 
result  of  assiduous  labor  and  repeated  correction.  Some  highly  inter- 
esting  conjectures  concerning  his  method  of  study,  may  be  formed  upon 
the  historical  fragments.  They  consist  of  a  continuation  of  the  Floren- 
tine Histories;  the  narrative  is  clear  and  closely  connected,  the  events  of 


76  MACHIAVELLI. 

the  excellencies  of  clearness  and  concision,  with  great  vigor  of 
expression,  and  perfect  harmony  of  arrangement,  it  conveys 
the  ideas  of  the  writer  with  a  precision  and  force  which  make 
the  deepest  impression  upon  the  memory,  while  they  leave  no 
room  for  misapprehension.  His  words  and  phrases  are  pecu- 
liarly appropriate,  and  have  that  graceful  elegance  which  al- 
ways results  from  a  skilful  use  of  idioms.  There  are  no  la- 
bored expressions,  no  nicely  wrought  sentences,  but  the  whole 
moves  on,  plain  and  concise  in  argument,  clear  and  animated 
in  description,  nervous  and  powerful  in  declamation,  warming 
with  the  feelings  of  the  writer,  and  reflecting  every  shade  of 
his  thoughts. 

His  descriptions  are  rich  and  varied.  They  are  at  times 
perfect  pictures,  in  which  every  detail  is  carefully  wrought  up, 
with  appropriate  distinctness  and  keeping;  at  others,  brief 
sketches,  in  which  a  few  prominent  circumstances  selected  with 
the  instinctive  delicacy  of  genius,  form  a  perfect  outline  of  the 
most  important  parts,  and  seem  to  indicate  the  rest.    In  every 

each  year  are  described  with  distinctness  and  precision,  but  the  style  is 
marked  with  all  the  haste  and  negligence  of  a  first  draft.  The  sketches 
of  character,  which  are  so  beautifully  polished  in  the  Histories,  form  sepa- 
rate fragments  and  seem  to  have  been  prepared  with  greater  care.  It  i3 
more  than  probable,  that  the  description  of  the  death  of  the  Orsini  and 
their  associates  was  also  written  to  be  inserted  in  a  further  continuation 
of  the  Histories. 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  he  first  prepared  a  general  sketch  of  his 
works,  confining  his  attention  to  the  collection  and  arrangement  of  his 
facts :  that  the  sketches  of  character  and  most  important  descriptions 
were  often  composed  separately  from  the  first  draft  of  the  body  of  the 
work,  and  interwoven  with  it  in  the  course  of  correction ;  and  finally 
that  the  simplicity  and  graceful  elegance  which  give  such  a  charm  to 
his  style  were,  as  generally  happens,  the  effect  of  close  attention  and 
frequent  revisal. 


MACHIAVELLI.  77 

case  they  carry  the  mind  forward  with  constantly  increasing 
excitement,  and  produce  the  peculiar  and  powerful  agitation 
with  which  we  always  draw  nigh  to  the  termination  of  some 
great  catastrophe. 

He  seldom  indulges  in  declamation,  but  whenever  his  feel- 
ings become  particularly  excited,  his  thoughts  and  images 
flow  with  a  warmth  and  energy  which  show  how  well  he  was 
qualified  to  excel  in  this  species  of  eloquence.  He  describes 
the  events  of  history,  whether  marked  by  great  virtues  or 
debased  by  glaring  crimes,  with  a  clearness  and  truth,  which 
reproduce  the  whole  scene  in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  But 
all  comments  upon  the  moral  character  of  the  event,  all  ex- 
pression either  of  blame  or  of  approbation  are  repressed,  or, 
if  admitted,  are  expressed  in  brief  sentences  or  in  short  com- 
ments connected  with  the  narration  of  the  fact.  The  same 
manner  may  be  observed  in  his  reasoning:  the  subject  is  stated 
with  clearness  and  precision,  his  arguments  and  illustrations 
follow  in  rapid  succession,  but  all  passing  remarks,  all  ampli- 
fication and  declamation  are  left  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader.*  Many  critics,  without  observing  that  the  same  pe- 
culiar simplicity  is  invariably  used  in  speaking  of  his  own  in- 
terests and  misfortunes,  have  thought  that  it  indicated,  in  the 
mind  of  the  writer,  a  total  indifference  to  good  and  evil.  But 
this  moral  insensibility  in  the  highest  order  of  intellect,  is 
more  frequently  imagined  than  found.  The  volume,  from 
which  we  arise  with  a  stronger  inclination  to  the  practice  of 
virtue,  a  warm  admiration  for  the  noble  and  lovely  in  moral 

*  This,  of  coarse,  is  applied  to  his  usual  manner,  for  several  beautiful 
exceptions  might  be  pointed  out. 

7* 


78  MACHIAVELLI. 

excellence,  and  a  profound  abhorrence  of  the  sacrifice  of  the 
interests  of  many  to  the  pleasure  of  an  individual,  can  hardly 
have  been  produced  by  a  mind  wholly  blunted  to  moral  feel- 
ing. As  different  minds  have  different  forms  of  expression, 
so  have  they  different  ways  of  conveying  their  lessons  of 
virtue.  The  moral  feeling  that  arises  from  the  reading  of 
Machiavelli,  lies  far  deeper  than  the  surface  of  his  narrative ; 
it  is  produced  by  an  attentive  study  of  the  whole,  instead  of 
being  gaudily  painted  on  each  single  part :  it  breaks  not  out 
in  frequent  and  loud  bursts  of  applause,  but  winds  itself 
slowly  and  surely  among  the  secret  places  of  the  heart ;  and 
the  reader,  although  frequently  unconscious  of  the  impression 
that  he  has  received,  finds  it  mingling,  like  the  first  lessons  of 
youth,  with  the  whole  course  and  character  of  his  subsequent 
reflections. 

Some  also,  have  supposed,  that  Machiavelli  had  studie'd  in 
preference  the  dark  policy  of  his  own  times.  We  will  not 
now  stop  to  examine  in  what  degree  the  writers  of  every  age 
are  influenced  by  the  peculiar  character  of  their  own,  or  how 
far  it  is  important  for  a  public  man,  who  seeks  to  be  useful, 
to  conduct  all  his  researches  with  a  direct  view  to  the  nature 
of  the  materials  upon  which  he  is  to  act ;  but  we  believe  that 
a  careful  examination  of  the  writings  of  Machiavelli,  will 
show  that  his  favorite  school  was  in  the  best  ages  of  ancient 
history.  The  most  eloquent  passages  of  his  writings  are 
those  in  which  he  describes  the  effect  of  free  institutions  and 
virtuous  example  upon  the  character  of  a  nation.  Take  for 
example  the  short  description  of  the  sunny  days  of  the  Anto- 


MACHIAVELLI.  79 

nines :  *  how  bright  the  colors,  how  strong  the  contrasts,  how 
warm  and  glowing  the  whole  design !  It  is  the  outbreathing 
of  a  pure  and  virtuous  soul,  forced  from  its  path  of  cold 
reason,  by  the  remembrance  of  bright  days,  and  glowing  amid 
the  images  that  its  own  fancy  has  revived.  Compare  this, 
with  the  account  of  Borgia,  f  —  a  clear,  cold,  but  powerful 
analysis,  with  a  warm  burst  of  enthusiastic  feeling:  —  the 
one  a  detail  of  crimes  supported  by  greater  crimes,  —  the 
vices  of  a  demon,  triumphant  over  the  vices  of  petty  fiends, — 
the  other  a  touching  sketch  of  sweet  days  of  peaceful  virtue, 
whose  heavenly  influence  his  own  dark  age  had  never  felt. 
Machiavelli's  favorite  character  was  Scipio,  and  he  seems  to 
contemplate  his  virtues  with  an  unvaried  and  exhaustless 
delight.  Caesar,  on  the  contrary,  he  boldly  condemns  as  a 
selfish  tyrant,  whose  great  genius  can  only  render  his  treache- 
ry more  hateful.  Clearly  and  strongly  indeed,  has  he  marked 
the  line  between  those  who  have  employed  their  talents  and 
opportunities  for  the  establishment  of  their  own  power,  and 
those  who  have  obeyed  no  other  guide  than  their  duty  to 
their  country. 

Many  works  convey  no  idea  of  their  author.  The  writer  is 
lost  in  the  story  that  he  relates,  or  has  nothing  sufficiently 
peculiar  in  his  cast  of  thought  to  impress  the  image  of  his  mind 
upon  its  own  creations.  But  Machiavelli,  although  he  seldom 
speaks  of  himself,  is  constantly  before  the  reader ;  his  spirit 
accompanies  us  through  every  page;  at  every  step,  we  feel  the 
presence  of  an  observant  and  superior  power,  that  will  call 
us  to  account,  for  every  thought  and  feeling  that  we  indulge. 

*  2.  Op.  Vol.  IV,  p.  60,  et  seq.  1 2.  Op.  Vol  V,  p.  215,  et  seq. 


80  MACHIAVELLI. 

Every  action  that  lie  relates,  contains  a  lesson,  in  every  event 
swell  the  germs  of  some  important  principle:  the  mind  is 
excited  to  constant  and  active  exertion,  and  the  reader  must 
think  as  he  reads,  or  cease  to  read. 

Throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  life  *  he  was  a  con- 
stant disciple  of  the  ancients.  Their  precepts  were,  in  many 
points,  the  guides  and  directors  of  his  actions,  and  their  works 
the  companions  and  consolation  of  his  solitary  hours.  It  was 
thus  that  he  was  enabled  to  give  to  his  own  writings  the  same 
species  of  charm,  which  distinguishes  all  the  productions  of 
ancient  art. 

As  a  student  of  the  most  important  and  interesting  truths, 
he  pursued  a  method,  incapable,  perhaps,  of  leading  to  the  ex- 
tensive discoveries  of  later  philosophy,  but  free  also  from  the 
subtleties  and  abstractions  that  have  caused  so  much  misery  in 
modern  Europe.  Led  both  by  natural  disposition,  and  by  the 
character  of  his  studies,  to  the  observation  of  individual  acts 
and  particular  examples,  he  reached  not  the  broadest  princi- 
ples of  general  legislation,  but  close,  cautious,  and  correct,  in 
his  reasoning,  he  seldom  failed  to  establish  some  important 
truth  of  easy  and  universal  application.     Born  in  an  age  that 

*  His  veneration  for  literature  was  occasionally  manifested  in  a  very 
singular  manner.  During  his  long  residence  at  his  villa,  after  his  re- 
lease from  prison,  he  usually  devoted  a  portion  of  the  day  to  the  duties 
and  amusements  of  the  country,  freely  engaging  in  its  sports,  and  sharing 
the  disputes  and  conversation  of  the  neighboring  rustics.  But  on  his 
return  at  evenings  his  rustic  dress  was  thrown  aside,  and,  arraying  him- 
self in  the  more  dignified  robes  of  the  courts,  he  entered  his  study  and  the 
presence  of  the  philosophers  and  historians  of  old,  with  all  the  care  and 
preparation  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  use  in  presenting  himself 
to  princes  and  ministers. 


MACHIAVELLI.  81 

had  given  free  license  to  every  species  of  corruption,  and 
called,  by  duty  to  his  country,  to  observe  from  a  close  point  of 
view  the  darkest  features  of  crime,  the  terrible  reality  that 
surrounded  him  left/no  room  for  the  brighter  dreams  of  imagi- 
nation, and  he  has  painted  man  as  he  had  found  him,  and  life 
as  he  himself  had  proved  it,  amid  disappointed  hopes  and  tor- 
ture and  exile.  The  duties  of  his  station  compelled  him  to  fix 
his  view  upon  the  probable  termination  of  every  event,  and 
hence  he  sometimes  appears  to  have  lost  sight  of  the  means, 
in  an  eager  anticipation  of  the  end ;  but  it  should  be  remem- 
bered that  his  mind  was  of  that  class,  which,  seeing  with  great 
clearness  and  deciding  with  perfect  promptitude,  pass  rapidly 
over  the  comments  and  explanations,  of  which  they  cannot  dis- 
cover the  importance.  He  united  the  keenest  comic  wit  with 
the  profoundest  philosophical  reflection, — the  skill  of  the  sati- 
rist with  the  gravity  of  the  historian,  —  the  warmth  of  poetic 
feeling  with  the  shrewdness  of  political  sagacity,  and  bringing 
into  actual  life  the  same  versatility  and  apparent  contradiction 
of  character,  —  the  pliant  skill  of  an  Italian  diplomatist  with 
the  virtues  of  a  faithful  citizen,  and  the  tenderness  of  an  af- 
fectionate father  and  friend.  In  short,  whether  we  consider 
him  in  his  life,  or  in  his  works,  we  shall  be  constantly  struck 
with  the  peculiar  and  strongly  marked  character  of  both,  and 
be  prepared  to  acknowledge  that,  if  the  "  mind  of  man  be  in- 
deed the  proper  study  of  mankind,"  few  volumes  contain  a 
richer  store  of  varied  wisdom,  than  the  life  and  the  writings  of 
Machiavelli. 


THE  REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  * 


Fast  drey  Jahrhunderte  sind  verflossen,  seitdem  jene  Veraenderung  begann ; 
ihre  Folgen  haben  sich  in  alien  ihren  Haupttheilen  entwickelt ;  der  Nebel  der 
Vorurtheile  und  Leidenschaften,  der,  anfangs  ueber  die  Zeitalter  groszer  Revolu- 
tionen  schwebend,  den  Zeitgenossen  die  freye  Ansicht  verbielet,  ist  jetzt  lange 
zerstreut ;  und  der  beschraenkte  Blick  des  Beobachters  traegt  billig  allein  die 
Scbuld,  wenn  er  es  nicht  vermag  die  weite  Aussicht  zu  umfassen,  die  sich  ihm 
darstellt.  —  Heeren.     Politische  Folgen  der  Reformation. 

Their  moans 
The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  heaven.    Their  martyred  blood  and  ashes  rose 
O'er  all  th'  Italian  fields. 

Milton. 


The  history  of  the  Reformation  is  naturally  divided  into 
several  distinct  branches,  which  vary  in  interest  and  in  im- 
portance according  to  the  literary,  or  religious,  or  political 
influence  subsequently  exercised  by  the  nations  among  which 
they  extended.  While  the  pious  ardor  of  Luther  found  sup- 
port in  the  political  interests  of  a  portion  of  Germany,  the 
free  principles  of  Swiss  government  favored  the  reception 
and  extension  of  the  doctrines  of  Zuinglius.  And  while  the 
brutal  passions  of  Henry  were  affording  an  opening  for  the 

*  History  of  the  Reformation  in  Italy.  By  T.  Macrie,  D.  D.  Edin- 
burgh.   1827. 


REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  88 

introduction  of  Protestantism  into  England,  the  seeds  of  reli- 
gious liberty  were,  in  despite  of  royal  persecution,  taking  root 
throughout  the  whole  of  France.  Nor  was  the  spirit  of  re- 
form confined  to  those  nations,  among  which  its  success  has 
proved  permanent;  but  in  Spain,  where  the  supremacy  of 
Catholicism  might  have  seemed  least  likely  to  be  disturbed, 
and  in  Italy  itself,  the  seat  and  strong  hold  of  papal  power, 
the  doctrines  of  Protestantism  spread  for  a  while  with  a  pro- 
gress both  sure  and  rapid,  and  long  withstood  the  combined 
attacks  of  secular  and  inquisitorial  violence.  In  each  of  these 
countries  the  rise  of  the  new  opinions  was  marked  with  all 
the  peculiarities  of  national  character ;  and  even  long  after 
the  great  dispute  had  been  irrevocably  decided,  the  political 
movements  of  each  continued  to  be  more  or  less  influenced 
by  the  feeling  developed  during  their  respective  struggles  for 
reform. 

But  notwithstanding  the  extent  and  variety  of  this  subject, 
and  the  rich  harvest  which  it  affords  of  all  the  lessons  which 
render  the  study  of  history  important,  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting portions  of  it  has  been  strangely  neglected,  and  its  real 
character  alternately  exposed  to  the  satires  of  ignorance  and 
the  misrepresentations  of  calumny.  The  attention  of  most 
writers,  and  even  of  those  from  whom  we  derive  the  clearest 
and  justest  views  of  this  epoch,  has  been  confined  to  those 
nations  in  which  the  first  efforts  at  reform  were  followed  by  a 
full  and  permanent  religious  independence;  while  the  fate  of 
others,  whose  struggles  in  the  same  cause  were  pursued  with 
equal  devotion,  and  attended  with  an  equal  degree  of  intellec- 
tual development,  has  been  passed  over  in  silence.     So  true 


84  REFORMATION  IN  ITALY. 

is  this,  that  a  distinguished  writer  of  the  last  century  hesitated 
not  to  assert,  that  the  Italians,  devoted  to  intrigue  and  pleasure, 
had  no  part  in  the  trials  of  the  Reformation ;  and  this  too  of  a 
period,  in  which  hundreds  were  wearing  out  an  agonized  ex- 
istence in  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the  snows  of 
the  Alps  were  stained  with  the  tracks  of  multitudes  of  others, 
who  blessed  an  exile  that  secured  them  from  torture  and  the 
stake.* 

The  blame  of  these  errors,  however,  does  not  fall  exclu- 
sively upon  those,  who  traced  the  history  of  this  dreadful  pe- 
riod. The  historian  must  be  guided  by  his  materials,  and  his 
search  of  these  is  for  the  most  part  directed  by  the  views  of 
writers  contemporary  with  the  events  that  he  attempts  to  de- 
scribe. Facts,  therefore,  whose  importance  was  not  under- 
stood by  those  who  witnessed  them,  are  long  hidden  from 
posterity  by  the  short-sightedness  which  first  represented  them 
under  a  false  point  of  view,  and  the  subsequent  negligence 
which  failed  to  place  them  in  a  truer  light  while  their  proxim- 
ity rendered  the  undertaking  comparatively  easy.  But  when 
in  the  course  of  time  the  accomplishment  of  some  great  change, 
or  the  development  of  some  important  principle,  calls  the 
attention  of  the  philosopher  to  the  causes  by  which  it  was 
produced,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  it  originated,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  follow  back  the  current  of  history  with 
slow  and  cautious  steps,  and  unite  the  distant  occurrences  and 

*  This  is  not  exaggeration ;  the  dungeon  of  the  Inquisition  in  Rome 
overflowed  to  such  a  degree,  as  to  require  the  erection  of  new  prisons, 
and  in  Locarno  upwards  of  two  hundred  persons  of  both  sexes  and 
all  ages  were  compelled  to  abandon  their  homes  and  cross  the  Alps 
for  shelter. 


REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  85 

apparently  trifling  manifestations  of  the  character  of  different 
periods,  which  alone  can  lead  us  to  the  real  source.  A  vast 
field  is  thus  opened  not  only  for  research,  but  for  disputation ; 
systems  are  formed ;  schools  are  established ;  and  the  mind 
which  was  in  the  onset  animated  by  the  desire  of  establishing 
the  truth,  is,  in  the  end,  too  often  heated  by  the  passion  of 
acrimonious  controversy. 

But  it  was  not  by  ordinary  causes  alone,  that  some  portions 
of  the  history  of  the  Reformation  were  rendered  obscure. 
Various  concurring  events  exerted  a  strong  influence,  not  only 
upon  the  Reformation  itself,  but  upon  the  materials  which 
contained  its  history.  Ecclesiastical  history  is  less  a  narra- 
tive of  actions  than  a  record  of  opinions.  Its  revolutions  are 
changes  in  doctrine  and  creed,  accompanied  by  a  greater  or 
less  approach  to  purity  of  manners,  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
influence  of  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity.  But  it  comprises 
few  of  those  great  occurrences,  which  excite  attention  by  their 
direct  action  upon  the  physical  or  political  condition  of  the 
human  race ;  and  its  progress  can  only  be  traced  by  the  wri- 
tings of  the  men  who  took  part  in  the  corruption  or  reform 
of  each  epoch.  During  the  course  of  the  Reformation,  the 
attacks  of  the  Catholic  Church  were  directed  no  less  against 
the  works  than  the  persons  of  the  reformers ;  and  the  flames, 
which  could  not  always  be  extended  to  the  unhappy  object  of 
persecution,  were  fed  with  the  volumes  from  which  his  heresy 
had  emanated,  or  to  which  his  forbidden  researches  had  given 
rise.  Thus  while  the  Reformation  itself  was  effectually 
checked,  the  records  of  its  existence  were  destroyed;  and 
the  scanty  materials  for  history  which  escaped  this  war  of 

8 


8b  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

extermination,  were  scattered,  like  their  authors,  throughout 
distant  parts  of  Europe,  and  often  lost  by  a  neglect  no  less 
fatal  than  persecution  itself.  *  The  history  of  the  progress  of 
the  Reformation,  in  those  countries  where  the  Catholic  Church 
still  retains  its  supremacy,  can  only  be  formed  by  a  long  and 
minute  study  of  scattered  documents,  differing  widely  both  in 
character  and  in  form,  and  often  -less  calculated  to  lead  to 
clear  and  satisfactory  conclusions,  than  to  bewilder  by  the  ob- 
scurities and  perplexities  with  which  they  abound.  Directing 
our  attention  more  particularly  to  Italy,  we  find  that  the 
same  causes  which  led  to  the  suppression  of  the  Reformation, 
and  of  the  works  by  which  it  was  recorded,  continued  to  act, 
although  in  various  degrees,  upon  the  native  historians,  and 
either  mislead  their  judgment  or  check  their  pens  whenever 
they  approached  this  delicate  part  of  their  subject.  Allusions, 
sketches,  and  insulated  facts  are  scattered  through  their 
works ;  the  progress  of  the  reform  is  acknowledged  with  more 
or  less  hesitation;  but  the  independent  rank  which  it  deserved 
in  the  annals  of  Italy,  has  never  been  fully  accorded  it  by 
the  Catholic,  nor  till  lately  claimed  by  Protestant  historians. 
The  conduct  of  the  former  is  easily  accounted  for ;  but  it  is 
impossible  to  refrain  from  astonishment  at  the  neglect  of  the 
latter.  They  were  bound  by  every  species  of  motive  to 
claim  for  their  Protestant  brethren  of  Italy,  the  respect  and 

*  To  these  causes  must  be  added  the  jealousy,  with  which  many  pre- 
cious documents  are  still  withheld  from  the  public  eye  by  their  suspicious 
guardians ;  and  we  have  before  us  at  this  moment  additional  proofs  of 
the  ridiculous  timidity,  which  endeavors  to  conceal  from  view  what  can 
at  the  utmost  be  considered  as  but  an  additional  confirmation  of  facts 
irrefragably  established. 


REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  87 

the  commiseration  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  were 
bound  by  the  principles  of  interest,  which  forbade  them  to 
let  pass  so  strong  a  proof  of  their  favorite  assertion,  that  their 
cause  was  universal  and  universally  felt.  They  were  bound 
by  the  principle  of  morality  which  bids  us  judge,  as  far  as  we 
can,  by  motives  and  efforts,  not  by  actions  and  appearances 
alone.  They  were  bound  by  the  principle  of  true  philosophy, 
which  teaches  us  that  almost  as  much  is  to  be  learnt  by 
studying  the  causes  that  have  prevented,  as  those  that  have 
secured  success.  • 

But,  notwithstanding  the  motives,  which  might  have  been 
supposed  sufficiently  powerful  to  attract  toward  this  important 
subject  a  share,  at  least,  of  that  attention,  which  has  been 
assiduously  devoted  to  inquiries  of  far  less  general  interest ; 
it  was  not  until  towards  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  that  it 
began  to  be  studied  upon  a  scale  somewhat  better  suited  to  its 
real  importance.  The  first  circumstance  (at  least  as  nearly 
as  we  have  been  able  to  ascertain)  which  excited  the  general 
attention  of  the  students  of  ecclesiastical  history  to  the  pro- 
gress made  by  the  Lutheran  Reformation  in  Italy,  was  the 
publication  of  the  documents  relative  to  ecclesiastical  and  lite- 
rary history  collected  by  the  learned  Schelhorn,  near  the 
middle  of  the  last  century.  The  controversy  which  followed 
this  publication  not  only  served  to  awaken  the  curiosity  of  the 
historical  inquirer,  with  regard  to  this  subject,  but  wrested 
from  the  defenders  of  the  Catholic  cause  much  curious  and 
precious  information  relative  to  the  points  at  issue.  The 
Specimen  Malice  Reformatce  of  Gerdes  contained  a  still  more 
extensive  collection  of  facts,  and  was  the  first  effectual  step 


88  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

towards  a  complete  history.  Many  facts  and  circumstances, 
which  had,  till  then,  been  passed  over  in  silence  by  those 
who  undertook  to  treat  the  general  history  of  Italy,  were  from 
that  time  necessarily  made  the  subjects  of  at  least  passing  re- 
mark ;  and  the  difficulties,  which  had  encumbered  this  field, 
were  thus  gradually  lessened  or  removed.  At  last  after  the 
interval  of  half  a  century  from  the  appearance  of  the  work  of 
Gerdes,  Macrie,  whose  name  stands  at  the  head  of  our  paper, 
gave  to  the  world  in  one  body,  a  full  and  laborious  history  of 
the  rise,  the  progress,  and  the  fall  of  the  "Protestant  Reforma- 
tion in  Italy." 

Without  entering  into  a  detailed  examination  of  this  work, 
it  will  be  sufficient  to  observe,  that  while  we  respect  the  zeal 
with  which  Macrie  engaged  in  this  difficult  undertaking,  and 
the  patient  courage  and  unwearied  industry  with  which  he 
has  examined  the  innumerable  and  scattered  documents  which 
form  his  materials,  we  feel  deeply  his  deficiencies  in  that 
enlarged  and  candid  philosophy,  without  which  no  one  can 
fulfil  the  part  of  a  liberal  and  eloquent  historian.  In  many 
places  the  tone  of  his  work  would  be  more  becoming  to  a 
martyrology  than  to  a  dignified  history ;  and,  as  often  hap- 
pens, his  skepticism  with  regard  to  the  testimony  of  Catholic 
writers,  is  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  credulity  with 
which  he  receives  the  statements  of  their  adversaries.  Some 
facts  of  a  remarkable  character  seem  to  have  wholly  escaped 
his  attention,  and  the  sympathy  which  we  would  gladly  grant 
to  others,  is  checked  by  the  tone  in  which  he  demands  it.  We 
are  willing  to  acknowledge  that  truth,  abstractly  considered, 
admits  not  of  division ;  but  it  is  a  sad  though  common  mis- 


REFORMATION   IN  ITALY.  89 

take  to  suppose,  that  all  the  members,  or  even  the  majority 
of  one  party,  are  guilty  of  hypocrisy  and  deceit,  because  the 
other  is  in  the  right.  These  defects,  however,  for  the  most 
part  do  not  extend  beyond  the  general  tone  of  the  work ;  and 
though  they  detract  greatly  from  its  interest,  and  require  a 
great  degree  of  caution  in  the  reader,  it  must  still  be  consid- 
ered a  learned  and  instructive  history  of  the  great  events 
which  it  records. 

We  confess  that  we  feel  no  ordinary  interest  in  this  history. 
We  have  studied  it  not  as  an  insulated  fact,  but  as  a  continu- 
ation of  the  spirit  of  that  period,  when  Italy,  though  torn  with 
discord,  was  free  from  the  stranger,  and  was  cherishing,  in  the 
turbulent  existence  of  her  republics,  those  seeds  of  freedom 
and  political  wisdom,  which  she,  and  she  alone,  first  planted 
in  Europe.  It  has  been  for  us  a  connecting  link  with  the 
boldness  and  daring  of  her  first  glorious  dawn  of  literature ; 
and  as  we  look  around  upon  the  apparently  torpid  inhabitants 
of  her  lovely  fields,  we  see  the  same  spirit  strengthened  by 
long  patience,  chastened  by  long  suffering,  nerved  and  formed 
for  action  by  the  long  and  bitter  experience  of  four  centuries 
of  foreign  subjection,  ready  to  arise  with  the  irresistible  energy 
of  union  and  patriotic  devotion,  and  realize  the  provident  design 
with  which  nature 

"  dell'  Alpi  schermo 
Pose  fra  lor  e  la  tedesca  rabbia." 

We  trust  that  we  have  not  been  misled  by  our  own  interest  in 
this  subject,  in  supposing  that  a  brief  sketch  of  this  remark- 

8* 


*wivsrsittI 


90  REFORMATION  IN  ITALY. 

able  portion  of  Italian  history  would  prove  acceptable  to  our 
readers. 

The  origin  of  the  Reformation  in  Italy  extends  far  beyond 
the  proper  limits  of  modern  history.*  The  valleys  of  Pied- 
mont were  occupied  from  time  immemorial  by  the  Waldenses, 
whose  simple  worship  and  purity  of  manners  were  a  constant 
reproach  to  the  pride  and  pretensions  of  the  church.  It  was 
from  hence,  if  the  supposition  of  some  modern  writers  be  cor- 
rect, that  the  first  advocates  of  reform  derived  their  doctrines ; 
which  while  they  excited  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  other 
nations,  had  long  been  familiar  to  the  simple  inhabitants  of 
the  Piedmontese  valleys,  f  But  however  this  question  may 
be  decided,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  pretensions  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  nowhere  encountered  a  more  bitter  opposi- 
tion than  within  the  limits  of  Italy,  and  that  too  at  a  period 
when  the  other  nations  of  Christendom  received  its  commands 
with  implicit  submission.  The  independence  of  the  bishopric 
of  Milan  was  long  maintained  in  open  violation  of  the  doc- 
trines of  Rome,  and  the  decrees  of  Hildebrand  were  found 
inefficient  until  supported  by  the  arms  of  Estimbold.  But 
although  no  physical  opposition  could  be  formed,  of  sufficient 
strength  to  resist  the  forces  which  the  Popes  of  that  age  could 
bring  to  their  assistance,  yet  no  efforts  could  effectually  check 
the  growth  of  that  spirit  which  prepared  the  way  for  the  re- 

*  Botta,  Storia  d'  Italia.  Vol.  I,  p.  368,  et  seq. 

t "  Serbavano  e  tuttavolta  serbano  i  Valdesi  insin  dai  primi  secoli 
della  chiesa  opinioni  conformi  a  quelle  che  ora  turbavano  il  mondo. 
Giovanni  Huss  e  Viclefeo  gia  le  avevano  abbracciate ;  Lutero  stesso 
non  fece  altro  che  ripetere  quello  che  i  Valdesi  gia  da  molti  secoli  in- 
dietro  publicavano." —  Botta,  Storia  d' Italia.  Vol.  I,  p.  368,  et  seq. 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  91 

ception  of  the  Reformation,  and,  under  more  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, might  have  accomplished  it.  When  the  different 
churches  of  Italy  had  been  united  by  art  or  by  force  under  the 
more  immediate  dominion  of  the  Roman  See,  the  vices  and 
arrogance  of  the  latter  were  assailed  by  weapons  of  another 
description,  and  the  wounds  which  it  received,  though  less 
apparent  in  the  commencement  of  the  struggle,  continued  to 
wear  upon  the  debilitated  system  until  the  fatal  blow  was 
given  by  the  arms  of  Luther.  These  adversaries  were  the 
Troubadours  and  the  early  poets  of  Italy ;  a  class  whose  en- 
mity is  the  more  to  be  dreaded,  as  its  attacks  are  unrestrained 
by  the  usual  checks  of  time  and  of  place.  The  volume  of  con- 
troversy may  be  forgotten  although  supported  by  the  soundest 
reasoning,  but  the  song  of  the  satirist  continues  to  circle  in 
constantly  extending  bounds,  until  the  spirit  that  animates  it 
has  become  familiar  to  every  mind. 

The  first  place  in  point  of  time  belongs  to  the  Troubadours, 
and  the  manner  in  which  their  poems  were  composed  and 
made  public  must  have  contributed  greatly  to  the  extension 
and  effect  of  their  satires.  With  the  song  of  love  and  hymn 
of  triumph,  were  mingled  reproaches  against  the  luxury  and 
power  of  Rome,  and  the  same  lyre  that  responded  to  the 
description  of  female  loveliness,  kept  time  to  the  details  of 
priestly  corruption.  However  elevated  the  notes  of  triumph, 
however  soft  and  winning  the  strain  of  love,  the  verse  of  the 
Troubadour  seems  to  flow  with  greater  warmth  and  redoubled 
energy,  when  the  vices  of  the  church  become  his  theme.  "If 
God,"  says  Raimond  de  Castlenau,  whose  verses  we  must 
beg  leave  to  give  in  nearly  literal  prose,  "  if  God  saves  those 


92  REFORMATION  IN   ITALY. 

whose  sole  merits  consist  in  loving  good  living  and  handsome 
women,  if  Friars,  the  black,  the  white,  and  Templars  and 
Hospitallers  win  the  joys  of  Paradise,  great  fools,  in  sooth, 
were  St.  Peter  and  St.  Andrew,  who  suffered  so  much  for 
what  these  men  win  so  easily."  * 

No  less  bitter  was  the  language  of  the  great  father  of  Italian 
poetry.  Without  adopting  the  theory  of  Rossetti,  the  opinion 
in  which  the  Roman  court  was  held  by  Dante,  is  clearly 
apparent  even  to  the  most  superficial  reader  of  his  great 
poem,  f  Not  contented  with  placing  some  of  the  highest 
dignitaries  of  the  church  among  the  hopeless  wretches  of  his 
Inferno,  he  goes  beyond  the  simple  bounds  of  satire,  and,  min- 
gling theological  interpretation  with  the  fictions  of  verse,  de- 
scribes Rome  as  the  predicted  Babylon  of  the  Apocalypse.  I 

*  Raynouard,  Choix  des  Poesies  orig.  des  Troubadours,  Tom.  IV, 
p.  383. 

t  This  is,  as  far  as  we  know,  the  most  recent  theory  upon  the  plan 
proposed  to  himself  by  Dante  in  the  composition  of  the  "  Divina  Corn- 
media."  The  ingenious  commentator  supposes  Dante  to  speak,  not  of 
the  kingdom  of  the  dead  but  of  the  living;  that  by  a  bold  but  complex  al- 
legory he  has  represented  the  Emperor  in  the  Deity,  the  Pope  in  Lucifer; 
that  life  signifies  the  Ghibelline  faction,  and  death  the  Guelf.  The  Em- 
peror, chief  of  the  Ghibellines,  is  the  protector  of  Italian  liberty,  and  the 
Pope,  head  of  the  Guelfs,  its  oppressor.  A  part,  however,  has  been  evi- 
dently borrowed  from  other  writers. 

$  The  nineteenth  canto  of  the  "Inferno"  contains  a  very  striking  illus- 
tration of  Dante's  manner  of  interpreting  some  parts  of  Scripture,  as  well 
as  of  the  light  in  which  he  viewed  the  Roman  Church.  He  makes  a  clear 
distinction  between  the  church  of  Christ  and  the  vices  of  his  "  vicars  upon 
earth,"  and  seems  to  have  wished  for  the  species  of  reform  which  has 
been  so  ardently  desired  by  many  excellent  Catholics  of  different  times. 
For  he  would  seem  to  seek  rather  to  limit  and  rednce  the  Papal  power, 
than  subvert  it.  And  while  he  points  out  some  Pontiffs  as  those  "  di 
cui  s'  accorse  '1  Vangelista,"  yet  here  and  elsewhere  he  expresses  his 
"  riverenzia  delle  somme  chiavi." 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  93 

This  doctrine,  indeed,  so  fondly  adopted  by  all  Protestants,  is 
said  to  have  been  anterior  even  to  the  age  of  Dante,  and  to 
have  been  supported  in  the  eleventh  century  by  extensive 
comparison  and  direct  application.  But  this  circumstance 
becomes  still  more  striking,  when  the  severe  and  inflexible 
spirit  of  Dante  is  found  reflected  in  the  verses  of  the  mild  and 
pious  Petrarch.  Member  of  the  ecclesiastical  body,  intimate 
and  favored  resident  of  the  Papal  court,  bound  by  the  ties  of 
interest  and  gratitude  to  some  of  the  most  distinguished  pre- 
lates of  the  age,  the  vices  and  corruptions  of  the  church  were 
laid  open  to  his  observant  eye  without  the  slightest  hesitation 
or  veil.  The  effect  of  this  scene  upon  his  mind  was  deep 
and  lasting.  Ambition,  although  more  than  once  awakened, 
friendship,  though  all-powerful  over  him  in  every  other  situa- 
tion, even  love  itself,  whose  control  over  his  whole  life  is  so 
closely  connected  with  every  portion  of  his  history,  were  una- 
ble to  bind  him  to  a  spot,  where  he  saw  the  crime  of  religious 
usurpation  heightened  by  the  open  abandonment  of  every 
moral  virtue.  From  his  retreat  in  the  valley  of  Vaucluse,  his 
revered  and  dreaded  voice  was  raised  against  the  corruptions 
of  the  "impious  Babylon."  The  first  of  his  sonnets  in  which 
his  views  of  the  Roman  church  are  clearly  recorded,  com- 
mences thus : 

'  From  impious  Babylon,  from  whence  all  shame 
Hath  fled,  and  every  good  is  gone, 
Mother  of  errors,  dwelling-place  of  grief, 
I  've  fled  this  fragile  being  to  prolong.' 

Still  stronger  are  the  105th,  beginning: 

'  May  flames  from  heaven  upon  thy  tresses  fall ! ' 


94  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

and  the  106th,  which  contains  a  vehement  prophecy  of  the  fate 
of  the  offending  city : 

4  Her  idols  on  the  ground  shall  scattered  be, 
And  her  proud  towers.' 

But  of  all  the  Italian  poems  directed  against  the  church  of 
Rome,  the  following  sonnet,  the  107th  of  Petrarca's  Canzoniere, 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  bitter : 

'  Fontana  di  dolore,  albergo  6"  ira, 

Scola  d'  errori,  e  tempio  d'  eresia, 

Giav  Roma,  or  Babilonia  falsa  e  ria ; 

Per  cui  tanto  si  piagne  e  si  sospira  : 
O  fucina  d'  inganni,  o  prigion  dira; 

Ove  '1  ben  more,  e  '1  mal  si  nutre,  e  cria; 

Pi  vivi  inferno ;  un  gran  miracol  fia, 

Se  Cristo  teco  al  fine  non  s'  adira. 
Fondata  in  casta  ed  umil  povertate, 

Contra  tuoi  fondatori  alzi  le  corna, 

Putta  sfacciata ;  e  dov'  hai  posto  spene  ! 
■  Negli  adulteri  tuoi,  nelle  mal  nate 

Ricchezze  tante  ?  or  Constantin  non  torna ; 

Ma  tolga  il  mondo  tristo,  che  '1  sostene.' 

1  Fountain  of  sorrow,  dwelling-place  of  ire, 
0  school  of  error  —  shrine  of  heresy. 

Once  Rome,  now  Babylon  the  false 

For  whom  so  many  weep,  so  inany  sigh. 
0  forge  of  treachery,  O  prison  dire, 
Death-place  of  virtue,  nurse  of  every  ill, 
Hell  of  the  living,  great  the  miracle, 
If  Christ  rouse  not  at  length  his  tardy  ire. 
Founded  in  chaste  and  humble  poverty, 


REFORMATION   IN  ITALY.  95 

Thy  very  founders  have  become  thy  scorn. 
Unblushing  wretch!  what  hope  remains  for  thee'? 
In  thy  adulteries,  riches  evil  born? 
Think  not  another  Constantine  to  see ! 
But  on  the  world  that  bears  them  may  thy  deeds  return.' 

The  sentiments  thus  uttered  with  the  warmth  of  verse  are 
confirmed  by  the  energy  with  which  he  inveighs  against  the 
same  vices,  in  his  familiar  correspondence;*  and  the  supposi- 
tion which  might  otherwise  have  arisen,  that  they  were  but 
the  exaggerations  of  poetry,  is  thus  fully  and  satisfactorily  con- 
tradicted. To  these  illustrious  names  others  might  be  added 
of  almost  equal  weight,  were  any  other  testimony  required,  to 
show  that  the  clear  minds  of  the  Italians  were,  as  in  every 
thing  else,  foremost  in  discovering  and  laying  bare  the  vices 
and  corruptions  of  the  church. 

Neither  are  there  wanting  proofs  of  another  and  perhaps 
even  stronger  kind,  to  show  how  the  pretensions  of  the  Holy 
See  were  estimated  by  those  who,  from  their  vicinity  to  Rome, 
were  most  exposed  to  its  aggressions.  The  history  of  Italy 
abounds  with  instances  of  a  bold  and  independent  conduct 
towards  the  church,  and  a  resolute  contempt  of  its  censures, 
when  employed  in  merely  political  contests.!      Nor  were 

* "  Nunc  me  occidentalis  Babylon  habet,  qua  nihil  informius  sol 
videt.  In  nomine  Jesu,  sed  in  operibus  Belial.  —  Oramus  flentes,  ne 
tradas  bestiis  animas  confidentes  tibi.  Nos  zelo  domus  taae,  Christe 
Jesu,  jam  satis  evecti  sumus."  —  Epistolarum  sine  Titulo  Liber.  Ed.  Ba- 
sileai,  passim. 

t  One  instance  will  suffice.  Machiavclli  thus  describes  a  war  against 
the  Pope  in  the  fourteenth  century.  "  Questa  guerra  dall'  ambizione 
del  legato  incominciata  fu  dallo  sdegno  de'  Fiorentini  seguita.  —  Duro 
la  guerra  tre  anni,  ne  prima  ebbe,  che  con  la  morte  del  pontefice,  ter- 


96  REFORMATION   IN  ITALY. 

these,  like  the  writings  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  the 
manifestations  of  the  opinions  of  a  few  individuals,  whose 
minds  had  been  raised  by  superior  cultivation  above  the 
standard  of  their  age.  They  were  the  unanimous  actions  of 
whole  communities.  Old  and  young,  the  ignorant  and  the 
learned,  the  aspiring  statesman,  who  might  be  supposed  wil- 
ling to  sacrifice  his  religious  belief  to  the  interests  of  his  am- 
bition, and  the  humble  citizen,  who  only  sought  to  pursue  in 
tranquillity  the  labors  of  his  trade,  all  united  in  an  unwavering 
resistance  against  the  threats  of  ecclesiastical  censure,  when 
carried  beyond  the  legitimate  bounds  of  ecclesiastical  juris- 
diction. Without  drawing  a  subtile  distinction  between  the 
temporal  and  the  spiritual  authority  of  the  Pope,  the  Italians 
often  resisted  the  encroachments  of  the  former,  while  they 
fully  acknowledged  the  claims  of  the  latter.  But  the  constant 
collision  between  these  interests,  could  not  but  diminish  the 
veneration,  which,  during  the  most  calamitous  times  of  Italian 
history,  was  actually  felt  for  the  religious  character  of  the 
Pontiffs ;  and  the  period  in  which  Rome  was  apparently  the 
religious  sovereign  of  Europe,  was  also  that  in  which  it  felt, 
most  sensibly,  the  inconveniences  arising  from  the  conflicting 
elements  that  composed  its  power.  Rome  may  thank  the 
divisions  of  Italy,  rather  than  her  own  skill,  for  the  preserva- 

mine;  e  fu  con  tanta  virtu  e  tanta  soddisfazione  dell'  universale  ammi- 
nistrata,  che  agli  Otto  ogni  anno  fu  prorogato  il  magistrato,  ed  erano 
chiamati  Santi  ancorache  eglino  avessero  stimato  poco  le  censure,  e  le 
chiese  de'  loro  beni  spogliate,  e  forzato  il  clero  a  celebrare  gli  uffizi' : 
tanto  quelli  cittadini  stimavano  allora  piu  la  patria  che  1'  anima;  c  di- 
mostrarono  alia  Chiesa  che  come  prima  suoi  amici  1'  avevano  difesa, 
suoi  nimici  la  potevano  affliggere."  —  Storie  Fior.  Lib.  Ill,  p.  181,  ed.  di 
Padova,  1832. 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  97 

tion  of  her  political  dominion ;  and  it  is  a  curious  subject  of  re- 
flection, that  the  city,  which,  with  the  power  of  her  arms, 
formed,  for  the  first  and  only  time,  one  united  and  indepen- 
dent nation  of  Italy,  has,  when  the  doctrines  of  a  mild  and 
peaceful  religion  have  been  substituted  for  the  maxims  of  a 
rigid  policy  and  the  dominion  of  the  sword,  contributed  more 
than  any  other  cause,  or  than  all  other  causes  taken  together, 
to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  discord  and  local  animosity,  which 
seems  almost  to  defy  every  effort  employed  for  its  removal.* 

It  would  evidently  carry  us  beyond  the  limits  of  a  single  ar- 
ticle, were  we  to  attempt  to  trace  with  accuracy  the  various 
steps,  by  which  the  way  was  opened  for  the  reception  of  the 
Protestant  doctrines  in  Italy.  The  ground  may  be  considered 
as  having  been  prepared,  long  before  its  appearance  attracted 
the  attention  of  historians ;  and  in  reading  the  chronicles  of  the 
different  republics,  or  the  lives  of  their  distinguished  citizens, 
we  meet,  at  every  step,  the  most  striking  proofs  of  the  exist- 
ence of  an  anti-Roman,  if  not  of  an  anti-Catholic  spirit,  from 
the  earliest  periods  of  its  modern  history.  We  shall  briefly 
mention  a  few  of  the  most  remarkable  steps  of  its  progress  to- 
wards a  more  perfect  development. 

No  truth  has  been  more  strikingly  confirmed  by  modern 
history,  than  that  the  progress  of  intellectual  freedom  is  inevi- 
table, however  mighty  the  power  by  which  it  is  opposed.  The 
foresight  of  tyranny  and  the  terrors  of  superstition  have  been 

*  There  is  a  chapter  in  the  '  Dicorsi'  of  Machiavelli  in  which  he  shows 
with  some  bitterness  and  great  clearness  of  demonstration  that  if  the 
Papal  court  had  been  established  in  Switzerland  instead  of  Rome,  Swit- 
zerland would  have  become  as  famous  for  her  domestic  dissension  as 
Italy  was. 

9 


98  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

employed  against  it,  and  in  vain.  It  has  often  yielded  in 
appearance,  while  secretly  gaining  strength  for  the  contest ; 
and  even  the  most  cunning  and  expert  of  its  opponents,  have 
been  repeatedly  deceived  by  the  difficulty  of  distinguishing 
among  the  various  causes  in  action  around  them,  those  which 
were  calculated  to  facilitate,  from  those  which  were  adapted  to 
check  its  career. 

The  ardor  with  which  the  Italians  engaged  in  the  study  of 
classic  literature  at  the  first  revival  of  letters,  was  surely  un- 
connected with  any  views  of  theological  reform.  But  the 
action  of  polite  pursuits  upon  the  spirit  of  a  nation,  which  has 
always  been  distinguished  for  energy  and  acuteness  of  in- 
tellect, prepared  the  way  for  the  reception  of  religious  as  well 
as  intellectual  freedom.  The  subtile  disputes  which  arose  con- 
cerning the  interpretation  of  Grecian  philosophy,  while  they 
fomented  the  passion,  extended  also  the  field  of  controversy. 
But,  when  the  attention  of  those,  who  had  been  formed  in  this 
school,  became  directed  to  the  dogmas  and  doctrines  of  the 
church,  their  discoveries  were  not  always  accompanied  by  a 
sincere  wish  for  the  correction  of  abuses.  Many  of  the  bright 
intellects  of  that  age,  were,  like  Erasmus,  willing  to  see,  but 
unwilling  to  expose  themselves  to  the  penalties  which  follow 
the  communication  of  forbidden  knowledge.  With  others,  the 
labors  which  should  have  led  to  a  candid  acknowledgment  of 
the  truth,  terminated  in  a  full  though  unacknowledged  skep- 
ticism. It  is  well  known,  that,  at  the  epoch  of  the  Refor- 
mation in  Germany,  not  only  the  universities,  but  the  churches 
of  Italy  were  filled  with  men,  whose  shining  talents  and  pro- 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  99 

found  learning  had  not  proved  sufficient  to  preserve  them  from 
infidelity. 

Yet  from  sources  like  these,  the  stream  of  reform  was  to 
rise.  The  attention,  which,  at  first,  had  been  confined  to  pro- 
fane literature,  was  gradually  extended  to  the  study  of  the  He- 
brew and  its  cognate  dialects.  An  acquaintance  with  these, 
as  with  the  Latin  and  Greek,  became  an  object  of  literary  am- 
bition. The  refinement  which  had  been  introduced  into  the 
study  of  Pagan  authors,  was  then  directed  to  the  explanation 
of  Holy  Writ.  Manuscripts  were  collected  and  collated. 
Editions  of  different  portions  of  the  Scriptures  were  from  time 
to  time  prepared  in  the  various  presses  of  Italy.  Doubts 
were  suggested  concerning  the  correctness  of  the  authorized 
versions.  While  correcting  the  barbarisms  of  language,  the 
pen  was  inadvertently  carried  to  the  errors  of  interpretation. 
These  studies  were  encouraged,  not  only  by  the  learned  and 
the  patrons  of  learning,  but  received  new  vigor  from  the 
approbation  of  the  church  itself. 

Nor  was  this  ardor  confined  to  the  learned  languages.  Ital- 
ian versions  of  the  New  Testament  had  long  circulated  among 
those,  who,  from  a  love  of  the  truths  of  Scripture  or  a  partiality 
for  their  native  language,  were  disposed  to  read  them.  At 
first,  the  productions  of  men  who  ventured  not  to  depart  from 
the  readings  of  the  Vulgate,  they  coptributed  but  little  to  the 
discovery  or  correction  of  errors.  Still,  the  fact,  that  the 
Scripture  existed  in  the  vulgar  idiom,  and  the  perusal  of  it 
was  not  forbidden  by  the  guardians  of  the  Eoman  dogma,  facili- 
tated the  introduction  of  exacter  translations,  and  gave  a  plau- 
sible coloring  to  the  arguments  of  those  by  whom  they  were 


100  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

made.  The  science  which  had  been  so  successfully  directed  to 
the  original  texts,  was,  in  the  sequel,  zealously  applied  to  the 
correction  of  the  Italian  translations ;  and  the  number  of  the 
laborers  who  engaged  in  this  field  during  the  last  half  of  the 
fifteenth  and  the  first  of  the  sixteenth  centuries,  prove  not  only 
the  zeal  of  the  teacher,  but  the  ardor  with  which  his  lessons 
were  received. 

Literary  curiosity  once  excited,  soon  breaks  through  all  re- 
straint, and  the  mind  which  would  have  been  the  first  to  shrink 
back  in  the  beginning  of  the  research,  is  often  the  most  ardent 
in  the  prosecution  of  it,  when  its  confidence  has  been  once 
shaken  in  its  old  convictions,  and  it  is  hurried  on  by  that 
necessity  for  belief,  which  forms  the  very  basis  of  our  intel- 
lectual nature.  It  cannot  go  calmly  back  to  the  views,  which 
have  once  proved  insufficient  to  satisfy  its  longings.  It  cannot 
all  at  once  throw  off  that  sense  of  responsibility,  which  seems 
to  acquire  new  force  from  every  candid  exertion  of  reason. 
And  as,  one  by  one,  its  early  convictions  fall  from  around  it,  it 
still  moves  on,  more  ardent  than  ever  for  something  that  it 
can  believe  and  trust  and  cling  to,  in  the  cold  and  boundless 
space  that  expands  to  its  view. 

Thus,  the  studies  which  had  been  pursued  with  so  much 
enthusiasm,  in  Italy,  received  a  new  impulse  from  the  break- 
ing out  of  the  Reformation  in  Germany.  Many  Italians  be- 
gan to  frequent  the  universities  of  that  country,  where  the 
doctrines  of  reform  were  taught  with  all  the  fervor  which  arises 
from  newly  awakened  conviction,  and  the  boldness  which  ac- 
companies security  from  persecution.  The  new  views  of 
theology  usurped,  for  many,  the  place  of  every  other  pursuit, 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  101 

and  the  minds  of  the  students  became  inflamed  with  the  same 
zeal  that  animated  their  masters.  Nor  was  the  knowledge  of 
these  doctrines  confined  to  those  who  imbibed  them  in  the 
schools  of  Germany.  The  works  of  Luther,  and  Melancthon, 
and  Zuinglius  were  circulated,  with  greater  precautions,  it  is 
true,  but  with  nearly  the  same  success  which  had  attended 
them  beyond  the  Alps.  Studied  in  the  convents,  in  the  schools, 
in  Rome  itself,  they  were  often  read  and  applauded  by  those, 
who  were  the  first  and  bitterest  in  condemning  them,  when 
they  became  aware  of  their  real  import.  From  the  study 
of  the  writings  of  the  Reformers,  the  transition  to  a  cor- 
respondence with  the  writers  themselves  was  both  easy  and 
natural.  Some  sought  them  out  as  men  of  great  learning ; 
others,  as  teachers  of  the  true  principles  of  theology.  Thus, 
a  new  and  broad  path  was  opened  for  the  introduction  of  the 
Reformation. 

While  the  doctrines  of  Luther  were  thus  gaining  ground 
within  the  hallowed  domains  of  the  Church,  the  attention  of 
the  court  of  Rome,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  remonstrances 
of  many  of  its  devoted  followers,  had  hardly  been  awakened 
by  the  rapid  progress  of  the  danger  by  which  it  was  menaced. 
And,  when,  at  length,  arousing  from  its  lethargy,  it  began  to 
examine  the  means  and  forces  of  its  adversary,  and  seek  out 
the  measures  best  adapted  to  check  or  to  crush  them,  its  first 
steps  were  made  with  a  rashness  and  precipitation,  which  can 
be  discovered  in  no  previous  epoch  of  its  annals.  Political 
causes,  of  unprecedented  weight,  then  came  to  unite  their  influ- 
ence against  the  will  of  the  Pontiff,  and  paralyze  his  efforts. 
The  greater  part  of  Italy  was  overrun  by  the  Imperial  troops. 
9* 


102  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

Rome  was  taken  by  assault,  and  the  Pope  was  compelled  to 
fly  from  the  impotent  thunders  of  the  Vatican,  to  the  narrow 
fortress  of  St.  Angelo.  An  army,  composed  in  a  great  measure 
of  Protestants,  was  thus  triumphant  within  the  walls  of  the 
capital  of  Catholicism ;  and  the  praises  of  Luther  and  of  Me- 
lancthon  resounded,  where,  for  ages,  had  been  celebrated  the 
proudest  ceremonies  of  the  Church.  The  arms  of  the  Empe- 
ror were  at  length  withdrawn,  and  Rome  once  more  returned 
to  the  yoke  of  her  ancient  sovereigns ;  but  years  of  watchful 
tyranny  could  alone  destroy  the  seeds,  which  had  spread  and 
taken  root  in  the  compass  of  a  few  short  months. 

While  the  power  of  the  Pope  was  thus  shaken  by  the  arms 
of  an  Emperor,  who  pretended  to  be  the  most  ardent  defender 
of  the  Catholic  faith,  the  eyes  of  all  Christendom  were  fixed 
upon  Rome  with  doubt  and  amaze.  It  seemed  as  if  the  fatal 
hour  of  that  ancient  and  dreaded  monarchy  had  come.  The 
voice  of  reproach  and  reclamation,  so  long  neglected,  had  at 
length  been  heard ;  and  the  throne,  from  which  so  many  bold 
decrees,  so  many  daring  enterprises,  so  many  dreaded  anath- 
emas had  proceeded,  seemed  shaken  from  its  foundations. 
Some  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  approaching  freedom;  some 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  the  rich  sources  of  gain  which 
were  to  be  closed  for  ever.  Princes  gazed  with  varying  sen- 
sations of  hope  and  fear,  according  to  the  fluctuations  of  their 
individual  interests ;  the  people,  with  joy  or  horror,  as  they 
recognized  the  hand  of  an  avenging  Providence,  or  feared  that 
the  face  of  the  Almighty  had  been  turned  from  them  for  ever. 
"Whence,"  cried  the  Bishop  of  Lipari,  struck  with  a  con- 
viction, that  not  even  the  presence  of  the  Pope  and  Cardinals 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  103 

could  repress,  "  whence  come  these  ills  ?  Why  are  we  sub- 
jected to  so  many  misfortunes  ?  It  is  for  the  corruption  of 
the  human  race ;  it  is,  because  we  are  no  longer  the  citizens 
of  Rome  the  holy,  but  of  Babylon,  the  city  of  wickedness. 
The  words  of  Isaiah  have  been  fulfilled, '  How  has  the  faithful 
become  a  wanton ! ' " 

Mean  while,  the  progress  of  the  Reformation,  no  longer  re- 
strained by  the  opposition  of  the  Roman  Church,  increased  in 
extension  and  rapidity  in  every  part  of  Italy ;  and  the  minds 
of  many  began  to  yield,  whom  a  sincere  attachment  to  Ca- 
tholicism had  hitherto  embittered  against  the  doctrines  of 
Luther. 

First  in  the  list  of  the  protectors  of  Reform  was  a  member 
of  the  royal  house  of  France,  who  had  been  placed  by  mar- 
riage upon  the  ducal  throne  of  Ferrara.  The  princess  Re- 
nata  had  imbibed  the  principles  of  Luther,  in  the  court  of 
the  king  of  Navarre ;  and,  upon  her  removal  to  Ferrara,  she 
extended  her  patronage  towards  them  with  the  spirit  and  zeal 
which  marked  her  character.  Those  of  her  countrymen,  whom 
the  rigor  or  dread  of  religious  persecution  had  driven  from 
France,  were  received  and  protected  at  her  court.  Clement 
Marot,  distinguished  both  as  a  Protestant  and  a  poet,  was  ele- 
vated to  the  rank  of  her  private  secretary.  Many  others  were 
met  with  a  judicious  patronage,  which,  while  it  won  their  affec- 
tions, and  consoled  them  amid  the  sorrows  of  exile,  secured 
them,  at  the  same  time,  from  the  attacks  of  courtly  jealousy  or 
ecclesiastical  persecution.  Calvin,  under  an  assumed  name, 
passed  several  months  at  Ferrara,  in  free  and  confidential  com- 
munication with  the  Duchess.    The  propagation  of  her  favorite 


104  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

doctrines  was  rendered  still  more  sure,  by  the  introduction 
into  the  principal  chairs  of  the  University,  of  many  who  had 
secretly  adopted  or  warmly  favored  them ;  and,  while  these 
contributed  to  the  extension  of  their  principles  by  their  public 
lessons,  the  minds  of  the  future  rulers  of  Ferrara  were  pre- 
pared to  view  them  with  favor  by  the  instructions  of  their  pri- 
vate tutors.  Ferrara  was  the  school  of  Protestantism  in  Italy ; 
and  there  was  scarcely  one  of  its  distinguished  partisans,  who 
was  not  for  a  greater  or  less  period,  a  sharer  in  the  protection 
of  Renata. 

Nor  was  the  success  of  the  Reformation  less  rapid  in  the 
neighboring  city  of  Modena.  It  was  not  secured  here,  as  in 
Ferrara,  by  the  protection  of  a  princess,  but  was  owing,  in  a 
great  measure,  to  the  free  discussions  of  a  society  of  men  dis- 
tinguished for  their  attainments  in  science  and  literature.  The 
study  and  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures  occupied  every  mind; 
and  the  teachers  of  the  Reformed  religion,  venturing  beyond 
the  bounds  which  had  restrained  their  brethren  of  Ferrara, 
united  their  auditors  into  regular  assemblies,  and  enjoyed  for  a 
time  the  open  exercise  of  their  rights,  with  all  the  advantages 
of  a  free  religious  communion. 

In  a  sketch  like  the  present,  it  would  be  useless  to  trace  the 
course  of  the  reform  from  city  to  city,  as  it  extended  with 
various  degrees  of  success  through  the  different  states  of  Italy. 
Subject  to  the  influences  of  political  and  individual  interest, 
encountering  at  times  the  firm  opposition  of  sincere  convic- 
tion, at  others,  the  virulent  attacks  of  selfish  hatred,  it  moved 
in  some  places  with  the  boldness  of  a  successful  revolutionist, 
in  others,  with  the  cautious  secrecy  of  a  determined  but  pru- 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  105 

dent  reformer.  In  Bologna  it  embraced  in  its  ranks  many  of 
the  brightest  names  of  the  University,  as  well  as  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  citizens.  A  correspondence  was  warmly 
carried  on  with  the  Reformers  of  Germany;  and,  had  the 
struggle  between  the  two  sects  broken  out  into  open  warfare, 
one  of  the  new  converts  was  prepared  to  defend  his  faith 
with  the  swords  of  six  thousand  men,  raised  and  supported  at 
his  own  expense.  Among  the  early  converts  of  Naples,  we 
meet  the  names  of  Ochino,  a  monk  of  the  austere  order  of 
Capuchins,  and  one  of  the  most  renowned  preachers  of  his 
age ;  of  Mollio  and  Martire,  who  in  the  silence  of  the  cloister 
had  stored  their  minds  with  the  profoundest  erudition ;  and 
of  Valdes,  who  in  the  public  capacity  of  secretary  of  the  king- 
dom, possessed  the  means  of  protecting  those  whom  his  ar- 
guments and  persuasions  had  converted.  And  here  we  may 
remark,  that  if  the  alleged  corruptions  of  the  church  were 
nowhere  carried  to  so  great  an  excess  as  within  the  walls  of 
its  convents,  it  was  from  the  quiet  repose  of  the  same  institu- 
tions that  arose  the  noblest  advocates  of  reform.  Strange 
and  mysterious  contradiction !  that  the  source  which  had  cor- 
rupted, should  be  the  foremost  to  purify ;  that  the  same  soil 
which  had  produced  the  poison,  should  raise  up  the  antidote 
by  its  side ! 

Of  all  the  states  of  Italy,  there  was  none  from  which  the 
friends  of  reform  might  have  so  justly  looked  for  encourage- 
ment and  protection,  as  the  republic  of  Venice.  This  won- 
derful nation,  the  course  and  principles  of  whose  government 
differed  so  widely  from  those  of  every  other,  seldom  allowed 
any  consideration  of  regard  for  foreign  powers  to  influence  its 


106  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

domestic  policy.  Innumerable  had  been  the  artifices,  unwea- 
ried the  efforts  of  the  Roman  Pontiffs,  to  extend  their  control 
over  the  state  of  Venice,  as  they  had  succeeded  in  doing 
throughout  the  rest  of  Europe.  But  the  Venetian  senate,  with 
an  equal  share  of  constancy,  and  a  boldness  not  diminished 
by  any  excess  of  superstition,*  had  from  the  earliest  periods 
of  their  history,  met  the  efforts  of  the  Roman  court,  with  a 
firm  and  successful  opposition.  This  long  and  varied  strug- 
gle was  carried  on  with  greater  or  less  animosity,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  concurrent  action  of  other  causes ;  but  never  sub- 
sided, so  far  as  to  give  room  for  a  durable  union,  or  a  commu- 
nication, free  from  suspicion.  When,  therefore,  the  Protes- 
tant reform  first  began  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  Italians, 
it  was  to  the  Venetians  that  the  eyes  of  all  the  friends  of 
religious  freedom  were  directed,  and  the  movements  of  that 
cautious  and  independent  government  were  observed  with 
an  interest  proportioned  to  the  importance  of  the  question 
which  was  at  stake.  The  works  of  the  Reformers  formed  a 
fruitful  source  of  gain  for  the  booksellers  of  the  republic,  and 

*In  fact,  no  government  was  less  superstitious;  and  the  only  question 
that  could  arise,  would  be  whether  it  did  not  incline  too  evidently  to  the 
opposite  extreme.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  of  some  of  the  Popes. 
The  following  anecdote  was  related  to  us  by  the  great  Italian  historian 
of  our  age,  and  may  serve  in  corroboration  of  the  above  statement. 
During  one  of  the  numerous  contests  between  the  Venetian  Senate  and 
the  Holy  See,  the  ambassador  of  the  republic,  in  a  private  audience,  so 
far  excited  the  indignation  of  the  Pope,  that  he  at  last  broke  through  all 
bounds  and  accused  the  Venetians  of  being  nearly  infidels.  "  Voi  altri 
signori  Veneziani  appena  credete  alia  santissima  Trinita,"  grido  il  pon- 
tefice.  "E  le  par  poco,  Santita?"  was  the  reply  of  the  ambassador. 
"  You,  Venetians  hardly  believe  in  the  Holy  Trinity  !  "  "  And  does  your  Ho- 
liness think  that  little  ?  " 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  107 

her  presses  were  employed  in  multiplying  the  copies  of  the 
Scriptures  which  were  considered  by  all  parties  as  the  prin- 
cipal support  of  the  Protestant  cause.  The  doctrines  of 
Germany  and  Switzerland  soon  began  to  spread  among  the 
Venetians.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months,  the  capital  con- 
tained an  extensive  society  of  learned  men,  who  openly 
avowed  the  principles  of  Luther.  The  effect  of  their  influ- 
ence and  example  was  soon  felt  in  other  parts  of  the  same 
dominions.  Every  day  gave  new  strength  to  the  party. 
From  individual  profession,  they  gradually  advanced  to  public 
unions ;  and  their  cause  was  supposed  to  have  excited  more 
than  usual  interest  in  the  senate.  Nor  in  fact,  could  the  im- 
portant political  advantages,  that  might  have  been  secured  by 
means  of  a  religious  reform,  have  escaped  the  observation  of 
men,  trained  by  long  practice  to  consider  every  thing  with  a 
view  to  the  aggrandizement  or  additional  security  of  their 
possessions.  But  little  seems  to  have  been  wanting,  in  order 
to  throw  into  the  Protestant  scale  the  powerful  political  in- 
terest of  Venice  ;  that  interest,  before  which  every  other  con- 
sideration was  made  to  bend.  So  confident  of  success  were 
the  Protestants  of  Germany,  that  Melancthon  addressed  a 
letter  to  the  senate,  in  which  he  congratulated  them  upon  what 
they  had  done,  and  urged  them  to  further  action.  But  the 
unsettled  state  of  her  relations  with  the  court  of  Constantinople, 
rendered  the  favor  of  Rome  essential  to  the  safety  of  Venice ; 
and  the  adherence  of  this  mighty  power  to  the  Catholic  religion 
may  be  attributed,  in  some  measure,  to  the  greatest  enemy  of 
that  faith. 

The  change,  which  might  have  been  naturally  expected 


108  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

from  the  government  of  Venice,  was  nearly  upon  the  point  of 
being  accomplished  in  Lucca,  by  the  daring  and  enthusiasm 
of  a  single  individual.  The  Reformation  which  had  taken 
such  strong  hold  in  different  sections  of  Italy,  had  nowhere 
found  a  more  ready  welcome  than  among  the  citizens  of  Luc- 
ca. Extending  there,  with  the  same  rapid  progress  which 
we  have  already  observed  in  Venice,  and  Naples,  and  Ferra- 
ra,  its  principles  were  soon  embraced  by  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  most  respectable  among  the  inhabitants.  Political 
motives  united  their  influence  with  the  love  of  religious  liber- 
ty ;  and  Lucca  was  on  the  point  of  becoming  the  theatre  of 
one  of  the  greatest  revolutions,  that  ever  changed  the  face  of 
a  state. 

Among  the  citizens  whom  the  free  principles  of  this  gov- 
ernment had  elevated  to  a  rank  apparently  inconsistent  with 
the  humble  profession  which  he  exercised,  was  Francis  Bur- 
lamaqui,  an  artisan  of  the  middle  class.  Endowed  by  nature 
with  a  studious  and  reflective  cast  of  mind,  this  man  had  con- 
stantly united  with  the  necessary  labors  of  his  trade,  the  study 
of  ancient  history,  and  particularly  of  those  portions,  in  which 
the  exertions  of  private  individuals  in  favor  of  their  native 
cities,  have  been  embellished  by  the  eloquence  of  the  great 
historians  of  Greece  and  Rome.  From  a  constant  meditation 
of  these  enticing  examples,  the  humble  artisan  of  Lucca  was 
led  to  seek,  for  his  own  name,  a  renown  like  theirs ;  and  the 
situation  which  he  then  held,  of  Gonfaloniere,  or  chief  magis- 
trate of  the  republic,  seemed  to  give  new  facilities  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  views.  But  to  the  warm  imagination  of 
a  reformer,  he  united  the  coolness  of  judgment  and  political 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  109 

sagacity,  essential  to  the  success  of  reform.     And  while  his 
patriotism  was  kindled  by  the  prospect  of  restoring  Tuscany  to 
her  ancient  grandeur,  he  grounded  his  hopes  of  success  upon 
the  political  situation  of  Italy  and  of  Europe.     Florence,  not 
yet  formed  to  the  yoke  of  an  artful  and  ambitious  tyrant,  was 
fondly,  although  secretly,  cherishing  the  remembrance  of  her 
lately  lost  freedom.     Pisa,  desolated  by  war,  deprived  of  com- 
merce, her  once  fertile  fields  vanishing  beneath  the  accumu- 
lating masses  of  stagnant  water,  her  municipal  pride  and  glo- 
rious recollections  lost  in  the  degrading  consciousness  of  an 
odious  dependence ;  Siena,  torn  by  divisions,  and  ready  to  fall 
a  prey  to  the  same  insatiable  ambition ;  Perugia,  Bologna, 
every  portion  of  Italy,  hesitating  between  the  desire  of  freedom 
and  the  dread  of  increasing  the  yoke  that  already  weighed 
too  heavily ;  these  were  the  circumstances,  in  the  situation  of 
his  own  country,  which  nourished  his  hopes  and  inflamed  his 
zeal.     Nor  was  the  prospect  less  encouraging,  when  consid- 
ered from  another  point  of  view.     The  Emperor,  whose  acti- 
vity was  the  most  to  be  apprehended,  was  engaged  in  a  war 
against  the  Protestants  of  Germany,  in  support  of  which  he 
had  drawn  away  from  Italy  the  greater  part  of  his  own  troops, 
together  with  those  of  his  allies,  the  Pope  and  Cosimo  of 
Tuscany.     Thus  the  defence  of  all  the  important  posts  in  the 
country  was  intrusted  to  the  hands  of  a  few  soldiers,  and 
those  none  of  the  best,  while  the  great  distance  of  the  papal 
and  ducal  armies  from  the  points  which  were  first  to  be  at- 
tacked, rendered  it  impossible  for  them  to  be  recalled,  in  time 
to  prevent  the  effects  of  a  sudden  assault  on  the  part  of  the 
conspirators.     The  progress  of  the  Emperor,  moreover,  in  his 
10 


110  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

German  war,  was  not  calculated  to  inspire  his  adherents  with 
very  ardent  hopes  of  a  successful  issue;  while,  on  the  contra- 
ry, the  firm  resistance  and  rapid  movements  of  the  Protes- 
tants had  filled  the  minds  of  their  partisans  with  the  most 
cheering  confidence.  But  one  of  the  most  encouraging  cir- 
cumstances in  the  political  aspect  of  the  moment,  was  the  deep- 
rooted  hostility,  that  subsisted  between  the  Emperor  and  the 
French  king,  and  which  led  them  to  embrace  every  species  of 
alliance,  and  to  resort  to  all  kinds  of  expedients,  in  order  to 
gratify  their  mutual  animosity. 

In  order,  however,  to  unite  the  feelings  of  those  whom  he 
wished  to  liberate,  it  was  necessary  to  raise  the  standard  of 
religious  as  well  as  of  political  reform.  This  was  supplied 
by  the  progress  of  the  Lutheran  Reformation,  and  the  favor 
with  which  the  advocates  of  religious  freedom  were  viewed  in 
Italy.  Thus  the  revival  of  the  old  Etruscan  league,  and  the 
introduction  of  the  Protestant  religion,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
full  establishment  of  religious  and  political  liberty,  was  the 
vision  that  constantly  floated  before  the  mind  of  the  enthusi- 
astic Lucchese. 

The  plan  which  he  had  conceived  with  so  much  boldness, 
he  prepared  for  execution  with  cool  and  cautious  judgment. 
By  habitually  making  the  original  felicity  of  Tuscany  the 
topic  of  his  conversation,  he  familiarized  the  minds  of  the 
friends,  whom  he  designed  to  employ,  with  the  subject  of  his 
desires,  and  prepared  the  way  for  a  more  direct  and  explicit 
avowal  of  his  plans.  His  first  confidant  was  a  member  of  his 
own  family,  whose  faith  and  zeal  he  had  fully  tested.  The 
number  of  the  conspirators  was  gradually  enlarged  with  all 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  Ill 

the  precautions  which  so  dangerous  an  undertaking  required, 
and  soon  comprised  the  principal  refugees  of  Florence  and 
Siena,  and  other  states,  together  with  the  wealthy  and  daring 
Strozzi,  who  were  to  bring  with  them  the  favor  and  aid  of 
France.  Already  confident  in  his  numbers,  Burlamaqui 
urged  to  immediate  action ;  and  had  not  his  wishes  been  over- 
ruled by  the  authority  of  the  Strozzi,  so  well  arranged  were 
all  the  plans  of  the  conspiracy,  and  so  well  timed  the  moment 
for  its  breaking  out,  that  its  success  would  in  all  probability 
have  been  complete.  Compelled  by  his  companions  to  delay, 
he  still  continued  to  strengthen  his  party  by  new  accessions, 
chiefly  made  among  the  exiles,  when  an  unfortunate  com- 
munication of  one  of  his  companions  defeated  all  the  labors 
of  his  prudence,  and  consigned  him  to  the  hands  of  the  exe- 
cutioner. 

The  desire  to  comprise  in  one  sketch  the  principal  events, 
which  distinguished  the  rise  of  the  Protestant  religion  in  Ita- 
ly, has  led  us  a  few  years  in  advance  of  the  first  efforts  of 
the  Roman  court  for  the  suppression  of  it.  Notwithstanding 
the  severe  shock  which  the  papal  power  had  received  from 
the  arms  of  Bourbon,  the  attachment  of  the  Emperor  to  the 
religion  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  or,  as  seems  more 
probable,  the  close  connection  between  his  political  interests 
and  those  of  the  Roman  See,  had  bound  him  by  a  tie  of  which 
he  always  acknowledged  the  force,  to  exert  all  his  power  for 
the  preservation  of  Catholicism.  And  thus,  although  in  the 
course  of  his  subsequent  operations,  great  and  dangerous  dis- 
putes frequently  arose  between  him  and  the  Popes,  and  he 
was  more  than  once  induced  to  threaten  an  open  rupture,  yet 


112  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

the  preservation  of  the  Catholic  religion  always  continued  to 
form  a  favorite  point  of  his  policy,  and  was  pursued  even  at 
the  hazard  of  important  parts  of  his  dominions.  Had  the 
same  unity  of  motive  prevailed  in  the  minds  of  the  Pontiffs, 
who,  during  his  long  reign,  were  successively  called  to  the 
papal  throne,  the  progress  of  the  reform  in  Italy  would  have 
been  checked  at  a  much  earlier  period  of  its  course.  But  the 
disadvantages  inherent  in  the  union  of  spiritual  with  temporal 
power,  were  never  more  apparent  than  during  the  period 
which  we  are  considering.  The  exertions  which  should  have 
been  solely  directed  to  one  object,  were  enfeebled  by  a  di- 
vision of  interests.  Of  one  kind  were  the  views  of  the  tem- 
poral, of  another  those  of  the  spiritual  ruler.  The  attention 
of  the  Pontiff  was  constantly  divided  between  schemes  for 
the  aggrandizement  of  the  papal  supremacy,  and  others,  no 
less  warmly  pursued,  for  the  extension  of  the  dominions  of 
the  church.  Thus,  while  urged  on  the  one  hand  by  his  pas- 
toral duties,  he  courted  the  favor  of  a  particular  sovereign,  he 
was  on  the  other,  as  a  temporal  prince,  often  constrained  to 
oppose  the  same  monarch  by  skilful  negotiations,  and  sometimes 
even  by  open  war.  If  to  these  we  add  the  further  embarrass- 
ments of  family  ambition,  and  the  disputes  and  wars  which 
were  frequently  excited  for,  or  by,  the  Pope's  relations,  we 
shall  be  convinced,  that,  if  Rome  surpassed  all  other  courts  in 
the  refinement  of  her  policy,  nothing  short  of  that  perfection 
could  have  held  together  the  conflicting  elements  of  which  her 
power  was  composed. 

There  were  two  periods  in  the  struggle  between  the  Prot- 
estant and  Catholic  religion,  in  which  the  friends  of  a  peaceful 


REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  113 

union  were  cheered  with  the  prospect  of  a  termination  of  the 
great  question  of  reform,  by  mutual  concessions  of  the  contend- 
ing parties.  The  first  was  upon  the  elevation  of  Adrian  to 
the  chair,  made  vacant  by  the  death  of  Leo  X. ;  the  second,  at 
the  accession  of  Marcellus  II.  But  the  opposition  which  the 
first  of  these  sincere  and  pious  men  encountered  among  the 
members  of  his  court,  and  the  premature  death  of  the  other, 
effectually  closed  the  door  against  all  reconciliation,  by  placing 
upon  the  throne  a  series  of  Pontiffs,  who  cared  less  for  the 
interests  of  religion,  than  for  the  enlargement  of  their  tem- 
poral dominions.  So  strongly  in  fact,  were  they  attached  to 
the  latter,  that  the  repeated  reclamations  of  several  zealous 
Catholics  upon  the  rapid  extension  of  the  Protestant  opinions, 
were  received  with  a  degree  of  coldness,  which  it  is  difficult 
to  account  for,  in  a  power  so  jealous  of  its  prerogative.  But 
when  these  reports  began  to  thicken  and  assume  the  tone  of 
warning  and  remonstrance,  Borne  was  at  length  aroused  from 
its  lethargy,  and  began  to  seek  out  the  most  efficient  means  of 
defence.  The  remedy  was  the  more  terrible  for  having  been 
so  long  delayed. 

The  Inquisition,  that  terrific  tribunal,  whose  movements 
neither  power  nor  pity  could  affect,  which  was  blinded  by 
ambition  to  the  real  interests  of  its  order,  and  hardened  by 
fanaticism  against  the  voice  of  compassion,  was  the  first  object 
towards  which  the  court  of  Rome  directed  its  attention,  in  the 
hope  of  reestablishing  its  shattered  authority.  The  success 
which  had  attended  the  operations  of  this  institution  in  Spain, 
and  the  dread  which  it  everywhere  inspired,  increased  the  ar- 
dor with  which  its  erection  was  called  for  by  those,  who  believed 

10* 


114  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

all  means  holy  which  were  employed  for  the  preservation  of 
the  Catholic  religion.  But  the  same  circumstances  which  con- 
tributed to  strengthen  its  power,  increased  the  difficulties  which 
attended  its  erection.  The  opposition  arose  not  from  the  peo- 
ple alone,  but  in  many  instances  from  their  rulers  also,  who 
looked  upon  the  Inquisition  rather  as  an  instrument  for  the 
confirmation  of  the  Roman  prerogative,  than  as  a  useful  means 
of  preserving  the  Roman  dogma. 

In  Rome  itself,  where  the  spiritual  and  temporal  power 
were  united,  the  establishment  of  the  "  Holy  Office "  was 
comparatively  easy.  But  the  frightful  tumults  and  wild  ex- 
cesses which  followed  the  death  of  Paul  IV.,  its  warmest 
advocate,  are  sufficient  to  show  in  what  light  it  was  viewed  by 
the  immediate  subjects  of  the  church.  In  Venice,  its  action 
was  generally  more  or  less  subject  to  the  control  of  the  civil 
authority,  and  it  was  rarely  left  free  to  follow  its  own  relent- 
less course.  But  in  Naples,  the  authority  of  the  Emperor, 
although  supported  by  the  cool  barbarity  of  his  viceroy,  and 
the  strong  arm  of  a  powerful  garrison,  was  nearly  overthrown, 
by  the  simple  proposal  for  its  establishment.  And  even  when 
the  Neapolitans,  abandoned  by  all  those  to  whom  they  had 
looked  for  succor,  and  intimidated  by  the  near  approach  of  an 
overwhelming  force,  were  constrained  to  submit  to  the  will  of 
their  sovereign,  so  strong  had  been  the  expression  of  popular 
feeling,  that  the  Emperor  gladly  renounced  all  thoughts  of  the 
odious  tribunal. 

But  the  dread,  which  was  so  justly  entertained  of  the  Roman 
court,  was  founded  rather  upon  its  profound  artifice,  than  its 
real  power ;  and  the  designs,  which  it  was  apparently  compel- 


REFORMATION  IN  ITALY.  115 

led  to  abandon,  were  often  no  less  successful  than  those  which 
it  pursued  openly.  Neither  the  fears  of  the  people,  nor  the 
jealousy  of  government,  availed  to  prevent  the  erection  of  the 
Inquisition.  In  some  of  the  minor  states,  it  was  received 
from  respect  to  the  papal  power.  Others  were  led  to  tolerate 
its  jurisdiction,  by  means  of  advantageous  offers  or  judicious 
flattery.  While  they  who  viewed  it  with  most  abhorrence, 
were  induced  to  submit  to  its  control,  by  the  artful  distinction 
which  was  made  between  the  Inquisition  of  Italy,  and  that  of 
Spain.  Rome  was  alike  triumphant  over  prejudice  and  power, 
over  the  people  and  their  rulers. 

The  consequences  of  this  triumph  were  soon  apparent 
throughout  every  portion  of  Italy.  Neither  wealth,  nor  rank, 
the  privileges  of  republics,  nor  the  favor  of  kings,  were  a  safe- 
guard against  the  arms  of  the  Inquisition.  The  timid  convert 
who  confined  his  belief  to  the  privacy  of  his  own  bosom,  and 
the  enthusiastic  proselyte  who  boldly  courted  the  crown  of 
martyrdom,  were  equally  exposed  to  accusation  and  trial. 
The  cassock  and  the  cowl  were  no  longer  a  protection ;  monks 
were  drawn  forth  from  the  secrecy  of  their  cloisters,  the 
learned  from  the  seclusion  of  their  studies ;  the  sanctity  of 
domestic  life  was  violated,  and  even  the  throne  itself  only 
served  to  mitigate  the  punishment  of  its  suspected  occupants. 
Suspicion  and  fear  usurped  the  place  of  that  free  communica- 
tion which  constitutes  the  chief  charm  of  society;  no  one  knew 
when  or  where  he  was  safe;  every  unguarded  expression 
might  give  rise  to  accusation;  and  private  enmity  often  sought 
its  vengeance  under  the  cloak  of  religious  zeal.  A  deep  and 
voiceless  terror  pervaded  the  whole  of  Italy.  * 
*  Botta,  Lib.  xii.  p.  181. 


116  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

Nor  was  it  an  empty  dread  of  some  indefinite  evil.  Ochino 
was  compelled  to  fly  for  life,  and  take  refuge  in  Geneva; 
Martire  to  abandon  the  church  which  he  had  so  fondly  plant- 
ed in  Lucca.  Carnesecchi,  the  confidant  and  friend  of 
princes,  was  sent  from  the  table  of  Cosimo,  to  the  stake  pre- 
pared for  him  by  Paul  IV.  One  by  one  the  Protestant  lead- 
ers were  subjected  to  the  attacks  of  the  Inquisition ;  and  happy 
were  they,  who,  by  prompt  and  painful  flight,  were  able  to 
exchange  the  sweets  of  home,  and  the  security  of  independent 
fortunes,  for  a  foreign  land,  and  the  bitter  bread  of  a  stranger's 
compassion.* 

The  racks  and  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition  were  soon  found 
insufficient  to  satisfy  the  rage  of  persecution.  The  flames 
of  the  stake  were  again  kindled  in  the  same  spots,  where,  but 
a  little  more  than  a  thousand  years  before,  the  foundations 
of  the  church  had  been  laid  amid  the  bones  and  ashes  of  its 
martyrs.  At  the  same  time  the  sword  was  laying  waste 
those  portions,  which  the  slower  arm  of  the  Inquisitor  could 
not  reach,  f 

Happy  were  the  subjects  of  Venice ;  for  there,  instead  of 
the  stake,  and  the  robe  of  pitch,  and  the  applause  of  an  im- 
placable multitude,  the  depths  of  the  Adriatic  and  the  silence 
of  midnight,  were  the  means  and  the  scene  of  martyrdom. 
Happy  too  were  they,  who,  through  the  intercession  of  pow- 

*  come  sa  di  sale  ' 
II  pane  altrui  — 

t  We  would  refer  our  readers,  for  a  perfect  description  of  one  of  the 
modes  of  torture,  to  the  eloquent  story  in  "  Outre  Mer,"  entitled  the 
"Baptism  of  Fire.'1 


REFORMATION   IN   ITALY.  117 

erful  friends,  were  kept  back  from  the  flames,  until  life  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  cord  or  the  sword  of  the  executioner. 
And  although  we  may  shudder  to  think  of  those,  who,  in  the 
flower  of  life,  were  brought  out  to  die  a  death  of  torture  in 
the  presence  of  their  fellow  men,  and  in  the  pure  light  of  day, 
happy  too  were  they,  when  compared  with  the  far  greater 
proportion,  whose  fate  is  still  concealed  in  the  dark  archives 
of  the  Inquisition. 

We  have  already  alluded  to  the  Waldenses  of  Piedmont. 
Colonies  from  these  secluded  valleys  had  long  been  estab- 
lished in  southern  Italy ;  and  the  fruits  of  their  industry 
were  everywhere  to  be  seen,  in  the  populous  towns  which 
they  had  founded,  and  the  fertile  fields  which  they  had  re- 
deemed from  the  forests  and  marshes  of  Calabria.  Devoted 
to  agriculture,  and  industrious  as  much  from  habit  as  by  ne- 
cessity, their  sober  and  secluded  lives  had  never  attracted 
much  of  the  attention  of  their  Catholic  neighbors.  Contented 
with  the  privilege  of  enjoying  their  own  opinions,  they  cared 
not  to  inqure  into  those  of  others,  and  confined  themselves  to 
that  quiet  and  unpretending  mode  of  life,  which  is  the  only 
safeguard  of  men  whose  existence  is  rather  tolerated  than 
acknowledged.  But  when  the  fame  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion in  Germany  reached  them,  the  sectarian  pride  which  had 
so  long  lain  dormant,  was  suddenly  awakened  and  soon  rose 
to  a  dangerous  pitch.  Calling  to  their  assistance  teachers 
from  the  Protestant  cantons  of  Switzerland,  they  first  re- 
formed the  abuses  which  had  insensibly  crept  into  their  own 
worship,  and  then  began  to  venture  upon  the  dangerous  task 
of  reforming  their  Catholic  neighbors.     We  are  far  from 


118  REFORMATION   IN   ITALY. 

believing  that,  amid  the  general  persecutions  of  Italy,  they 
would  have  been  suffered  to  escape,  even  if  they  had  not 
abandoned  the  course  which  they  had  so  long  followed  in 
safety.  But  it  certainly  could  not  be  expected,  that  the  Cath- 
olic party  should  view  their  efforts  at  proselytism  without 
opposing  them.  Fearful  in  fact  was  the  persecution  that 
ensued,  and  they  who  escaped  the  snares,  and  withstood  the 
persuasions  of  their  adversaries,  were  driven  for  shelter  to 
the  forests  and  mountains,  where,  hunted  like  beasts  of  prey, 
some  fell  by  the  sword,  and  others,  less  happy,  perished  by 
famine,  in  the  desolate  caverns  which  had  afforded  them  a 
temporary  asylum.  The  greater  portion  being  thus  cut  off, 
the  few  who  had  fallen  alive  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies 
were  reserved  for  every  species  of  torture,  perishing  by  the 
knife,  or  precipitated  from  the  summits  of  lofty  towers,  or 
stifled  by  the  foul  air  of  damp  and  crowded  dungeons. 

Thus  fell  the  Protestant  religion  in  Italy.  Its  end  was 
everywhere  attended  with  the  same  horrors,  and  its  history  is 
but  a  repetition  of  racks,  and  dungeons,  and  stakes.  Terrible 
period !  when  the  powers  of  the  human  mind  seem  to  have 
acquired  a  greater  development,  only  in  order  to  open  a 
broader  field  of  suffering ;  and  the  convictions  which  should 
inspire  sentiments  of  calm  and  beneficent  philanthropy,  served 
as  stronger  stimulants  to  ferocious  persecution.  Bitter,  and 
even  more  humiliating  than  bitter,  are  the  scenes  that  we 
have  traced ;  but  bitterer  still  is  the  reflection,  that  the  spirit 
which  distinguished  them  is  still  alive,  and  that  in  our  own, 
as  in  every  other  age,  the  persecuted  but  awaits  a  moment  of 
success,  to  seize,  for  his  own  use,  the  arms  of  the  persecutor. 


REFORMATION   IN  ITALY.  119 

Happy  are  we,  not  that  our  passions  are  milder,  but  that  our 
laws  are  better;  and  that  persecution,  from  being  a  moral, 
has  become  also  a  political  crime. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE,* 


IN  THE  FIRST  HALF  OF  THE  XIXth  CENTURY. 


Saper  d'  alcuno  e  buono, 
Degli  altri  fia  laudabile  il  tacerci, 
Che  '1  tempo  saria  corto  a  tan  to  suono. 

Divina  commedia. 

The  forms  of  national  development  are  as  various  as  the 
features  of  national  character.  Essentially  the  same  in  their 
origin  and  in  their  progress,  they  should  be  judged  by  the 
same  laws  and  studied  upon  the  same  principles.  The  first 
step  is  the  collection  of  facts ;  and,  after  this  preparation,  we 
are  at  liberty  to  follow  out  our  conclusions  to  the  utmost 
extent,  that  the  rules  of  sober  induction  will  warrant.  The 
action  of  similar  causes  upon  material  objects  is  necessarily 
followed  by  similar  results.  And  if  this  principle,  the  source 
of  such  sublime  discoveries  in  physical  science,  has  not  as  yet 

*  1.  Proposta  di  alcune  Correzioni  ed  Aggiunte  al  Vocabolario  della 
Crusca  [di  Vincenzo  Monti.]    In  3  Volumi.    Milano:  1817 — 1824.    8vo. 

2.  Storia  d'  Italia,  di  Carlo  Botta.    In  14  Volumi.    8vo. 

3.  Elementi  di  Filosofia,  di  Pasquale  Galluppi.    In  5  Volumi.  12mo. 

4.  Collezione  degli  Scritti  sullaDottrina  della  Ragione,  di  Giandome- 
nico  Romagnosi.    In  2  Volumi.  8vo. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  121 

been  applied  with  equal  success  to  the  investigation  of  intel- 
lectual phenomena,  the  failure  must  be  attributed  not  to  the 
law  itself,  but  to  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  subject  to  which 
our  observations  are  directed.  An  object  seen  at  a  distance, 
and  through  the  mist  and  haze  of  evening,  may  assume  a  form 
different  from  its  own,  and  give  rise  to  singular  deceptions. 
Yet  if  you  advance  a  few  steps  nearer,  it  will  without  any  ef- 
fort of  yours,  resume  its  natural  shape  and  proportions.  But, 
to  dissipate  the  mists  and  delusions  of  the  mind ;  to  bring  the 
eye  of  intellect  close  to  its  own  operations ;  and  then  direct 
it,  purified  and  strengthened  by  this  internal  study,  to  the  ex- 
amination of  men  and  of  nations,  acting  upon  a  broad  field  and 
swayed  by  every  variety  of  motives,  some  peculiar  to  the  in- 
dividual and  some  to  the  epoch,  is  a  task,  which  philosophy, 
although  she  has  labored  for  ages,  has  thus  far  but  imperfectly 
accomplished. 

In  part,  however,  her  labors  have  not  been  fruitless,  and 
some  laws  have  been  discovered  of  sufficiently  sure  and  gen- 
eral application  to  warrant  the  use  of  them  as  of  fixed  and  un- 
deniable truths.  Among  these  the  first,  both  in  order  and  in 
importance,  is  that  far-reaching  principle,  which,  in  judging 
of  nations,  refers  to  the  state  of  their  intellectual  culture  as 
the  test  and  token  of  their  destiny.  Other  forms  of  develop- 
ment are  more  immediately  dependent  upon  external  causes. 
Agriculture  may  prosper  or  languish,  according  as  it  is  favor- 
ed or  discouraged  by  the  division  of  the  soil  and  the  policy  of 
the  government.  Manufactures  and  commerce  are  the  pro- 
ducts of  situation  and  of  circumstances  ;  and  all  of  these,  al- 
though they  furnish  important  data  for  the  study  of  nations, 

11 


122  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

should  be  considered  as  effects,  rather  than  as  causes.  But 
poetry,  philosophy  and  art,  proceed  directly  and  solely  from 
the  mind,  and  afford,  if  rightly  studied,  unerring  testimonials 
of  the  nature  of  their  origin.  Circumstances  may  favor  their 
growth,  but  cannot  create  them.  Their  springs  lie  deep  be- 
low the  surface  ;  and,  whether  they  pour  forth  in  a  broad  and 
sweeping  stream,  or  glide  in  silence  through  the  retired  vale 
and  unfrequented  recesses  of  life,  the  springing  flower  and 
verdant  bank  reveal  the  secrets  of  their  course. 

If  the  application  of  this  principle  be  as  extensive  as  we 
have  supposed,  it  necessarily  follows,  that  in  those  countries, 
which  are  politically  dependent,  the  state  and  tendency  of  in- 
tellectual pursuits  is  almost  the  only  standard  by  which  their 
character  and  their  hopes  can  be  estimated.  Of  all  that  they 
possess,  their  literature  is  the  only  treasure  which  they  can 
truly  call  their  own.  In  this  alone  the  mind  is  free  to  follow 
its  own  impulses.  Through  this  the  poet  may  utter  laments 
which  all  others  must  suppress,  and  the  philosopher  almost  for- 
get the  sorrows  of  the  present  hour,  as  he  weaves  with  his  own 
hand  a  brighter  wreath  into  the  inevitable  destinies  of  his 
country. 

It  is  with  a  firm  conviction  of  the  soundness  of  the  princi- 
ple which  we  have  advanced,  that  we  venture  to  invite  the 
attention  of  our  readers,  to  a  general  view  of  the  state  and 
direction  of  studies  in  Italy,  during  the^first  thirty-eight  years 
of  the  present  century.  And,  if  we  should  succeed  in  placing 
this  subject  in  a  clearer  light,  and  one  more  honorable  to  the 
Italians,  than  that  in  which  it  is  generally  represented,  we 
shall  feel  better  entitled  to  call  upon  our  countrymen  to  pause 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  123 

and  weigh  their  judgment  of  a  country  which  receives  them 
with  marked  partiality ;  which  breathes  its  reviving  air  into 
the  very  hearts  of  their  sick  and  their  wearied ;  which  stores 
their  memories  with  ennobling  recollections  ;  and  which  only 
asks  of  them  in  return,  that  they  should  not  judge  her  in 
haste  or  in  prejudice,  or  that  at  least  they  should  draw  a 
veil  over  her  errors,  and  drop  a  tear  at  the  tale  of  her  mis- 
fortunes. 

There  are  many  facts  in  general  as  well  as  in  individual 
history,  which  derive  much  of  their  importance  from  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  they  occur.  Even  trifles  become 
interesting  when  they  serve  as  indications  of  character.  What 
can  seem  more  ridiculous  than  a  Demosthenes  in  his  vault,  his 
head  half  shorn,  and  wasting  day  and  night  in  the  servile 
copying  of  the  writings  of  another  ?  or  on  the  seashore,  strain- 
ing his  voice  until  it  became  audible  amidst  the  dash  and  roar 
of  the  waves  ?  But  what  more  sublime  than  the  same  De- 
mosthenes in  the  presence  of  the  multitude,  guiding  at  will 
the  impetuous  torrent  of  human  passion,  and  calling  into  life, 
by  the  force  of  his  eloquence,  feelings  long  lost  in  sloth  and 
corruption  ?  And,  to  bring  the  comparison  more  directly  to 
the  subject  before  us,  what  can  appear  more  trivial,  than  that 
grave  men  should  have  passed  the  most  precious  years  of  life 
in  the  study  of  words  and  phrases,  carefully  sifting  idiom  from 
idiom,  and  apparently  with  no  higher  aim  than  correctness  of 
diction  ?  But  if  it  be  true,  that  the  loss  of  national  idiom 
is  the  lowest  point  of  degradation  to  which  a  people  can 
sink ;  that,  when  every  other  tie  has  been  dissolved,  language 
forms  a  bond  of  union  even  for  the  coldest  and  most  insensi- 


124  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

ble ;  and  that  there  is  something  so  peculiar  in  the  character 
of  every  tongue  as  to  preserve  a  cast  of  nationality  even  amid 
all  the  diversities  of  individual  style  ;  then  this  study  of  words 
becomes  the  most  powerful  expression  of  the  love  of  coun- 
try. 

It  is  difficult  to  fix  with  precision,  the  epoch,  in  which  the 
Italian  language  had  reached  the  lowest  state  of  corruption 
to  which  it  has  ever  fallen,  or  to  name,  indeed,  any  period, 
in  which  the  study  of  it  in  its  purity  has  not  been  pursued 
with  a  certain  degree  of  success.  Even  during  the  last  cen- 
tury we  find  writers,  who,  for  force,  grace,  and  purity  of  ex- 
pression, are  deservedly  ranked  with  the  first  names  of  Italian 
literature  ;  and,  what  is  of  still  more  importance  for  the  light 
in  which  we  are  viewing  the  subject,  men  not  less  distin- 
guished for  the  intrinsic  value,  than  for  the  elegance  of  their 
productions. 

But  the  example  of  a  few  individuals,  however  eminent, 
was  not  sufficient  to  put  a  full  stop  to  the  progress  of  corrup- 
tion. The  multitude  continued  to  speak  and  to  write  as  if  a 
mere  change  of  words  were  a  change  of  language.  A  society 
of  lively  and  ingenious  philosophers,  the  celebrated  authors  of 
the  Cafe,  undertook  to  defend  their  principles  with  the  weap- 
ons of  wit,  of  satire,  and  of  philosophy.  Even  they  who  tried 
hardest  and  wrote  with  most  care,  could  not  always  avoid 
those  foreign  infusions  of  thought  and  manner  which  tinctured 
the  productions  of  their  contemporaries;  and,  that  nothing 
might  be  wanting  to  make  the  triumph  complete,  the  art  of 
corruption  was  reduced  to  general  laws,  and  the  student  taught 
how  far,  and  according  to  what  rules,  he  might  take  the  for- 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  125 

mation  of  his  language  into  his  own  hands.  The  defence  of 
their  antagonists  was  often  feeble,  always  dry ;  and  what,  in- 
deed, could  they  reply  to  the  odious  appellation  of  purist  and 
pedant ;  that  logic  of  general  terms,  which  so  happily  com- 
prises in  one  sweeping  appellation  whatever  you  choose  to 
attribute  to  your  adversary  of  ludicrous  or  of  vile.  This  con- 
troversy was  continued  with  unabated  bitterness  through  the 
first  twenty  years  of  the  present  century ;  nor,  during  any 
portion  of  that  period,  would  it  have  been  possible  to  say,  on 
which  side  the  balance  would  eventually  turn.  A  fortunate 
union  of  rare  and  diversified  talent  has  at  length  brought  it  to 
a  point,  which,  if  it  does  not  amount  to  a  positive  decision, 
has  at  least  placed  it  in  its  true  light,  and  leaves  but  little  to 
apprehend  for  the  future. 

It  is  not  so  much  with  a  view  to  the  order  of  merit,  as  to 
that  of  time,  that  we  place  first  in  our  catalogue  the  name  of 
Antonio  Cesari.  This  indefatigable  philologist  was  born  in 
Verona,  on  the  18th  of  January,  1760.  An  early  love  of  re- 
tirement led  him  to  the  cloister,  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen 
he  assumed  the  robe  of  the  congregation  of  the  Oratorio.  If 
the  life  of  a  man  of  letters  be  proverbially  monotonous,  what 
can  be  expected  of  one  who,  to  the  quiet  of  the  study,  added 
the  still  deeper  seclusion  of  the  convent  ?  The  shocks  and 
turmoil  of  an  age  of  revolutions  produced  but  a  transient 
change  in  the  pursuits  of  Cesari.  He  was  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  his  beloved  trecentisti.  To  renew  that  golden  period 
of  the  Italian  language,  he  labored  night  and  day  through 
the  whole  of  a  protracted  life.  He  composed,  he  compiled, 
he  translated,  he  edited.  And  when,  at  the  close  of  his  ca- 
ll* 


126  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

reer,  he  looked  around  upon  what  he  had  proposed  and  upon 
what  he  had  accomplished,  we  would  venture  to  say,  that 
he  died  contented;  for  his  task  was  done,  and  his  harvest 
was  white  for  the  reaper.  He  died  on  the  1st  of  October, 
1828. 

Contemporary  with  Cesari,  alternately  his  friend  and  his 
foe,  but  still  concurring  with  him,  although  upon  different 
principles,  in  the  same  undertaking,  was  the  celebrated  Vin- 
cenzo  Monti.  Poet,  critic,  philologist,  impetuous  in  his  feel- 
ings, and  no  less  so  in  the  expression  of  them  ;  with  an  imag- 
ination which  seemed  to  glow  by  its  own  spontaneous  action, 
and  a  richness  of  language  and  of  imagery  which,  notwith- 
standing the  severity  of  his  taste,  sometimes  degenerated  into 
exuberance ;  nothing  was  wanting  to  the  success  of  Monti, 
but  that  he  should  have  been  born  in  an  epoch  less  rigid  in  its 
requirements,  and  more  disposed  to  pardon  the  sins  of  the  im- 
agination. He  began  his  studies  with  what  he  always  con- 
sidered as  the  fountain  head  of  Italian  eloquence,  the  study  of 
Latin ;  and  it  was  thus  that  he  laid  the  foundation  of  that  pure 
taste,  which,  in  an  age  of  almost  universal  corruption,  led  him 
back  to  the  classics  of  his  native  tongue.  Some  juvenile 
compositions,  already  distinguished  by  their  departure  from 
the  prevailing  style  of  the  period,  won  him  the  favor  and  pro- 
tection of  Cardinal  Borghese,  by  whose  invitation  and  under 
whose  auspices  he  removed  to  Rome.  It  was  at  this  period, 
and  before  he  had  completed  his  nineteenth  year,  that  his 
poetical  career  may  be  said  to  have  had  its  beginning ;  and 
his  reputation,  supported  by  various  productions,  one,  at  least, 
of  which  may  still  be  classed  among  the  most  beautiful  of  his 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  127 

poems,  went  on  rapidly  increasing,  until  the  publication  of  the 
"  Aristodemo  "  and  the  "  Bassvilliana  "  placed  him  among  the 
first  poets  of  his  age. 

Although  he  had  been  the  eulogist  of  Pius  the  Sixth,  and 
had  branded,  in  the  indignant  verses  of  the  "  Bassvilliana " 
the  wild  excessess  of  the  French  revolution,  Monti,  young, 
enthusiastic,  and  fresh  from  the  study  of  the  ancients,  was 
easily  led  astray  by  those  brilliant  hopes,  which,  if  they  had 
deceived  the  cool,  the  calculating,  and  the  philosophic,  could 
hardly  fail  to  dazzle  one  who  had  no  other  guide  than  his  im- 
agination and  his  heart.  After  the  fall  of  the  Cisalpine  Re- 
public he  was  constrained  to  seek  a  refuge  in  Savoy;  and  one 
who  was  a  sharer  in  them  has  described  to  us  the  sorrows  of 
that  exile.  It  was  in  a  beautiful  grove  near  Chamberry,  that 
he  composed  the  greater  part  of  the  "  Mascheroniana "  and 
the  "  Cajo  Gracco  " ;  works  which  breathe  a  stern  and  mascu- 
line eloquence  and  a  tone  of  elevated  thought  to  which  he 
never  afterwards  attained.  Restored  once  more  to  his  native- 
land  by  the  battle  of  Marengo,  he  passed  through  various 
offices,  all  of  them  literary.  He  was  professor  at  Pavia; 
connected  with  the  ministry  of  the  interior,  for  the  direction  of 
literature  and  the  arts ;  and  finally,  poet-laureate  and  royal 
historiographer.  During  this  last  period  he  completed  the 
translation  of  the  "  Iliad."  Upon  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  he 
was  again  compelled  to  tune  his  lyre  in  unison  with  the  new 
order  of  things  ;  nor  did  he  do  it  with  all  that  dignity  and  re- 
serve, which  the  world  requires  in  so  great  a  man.  It  was 
shortly  after  the  return  of  the  Austrians,  that  he  began  the 
"Proposta";  a  work  arid  and  fatiguing  from  its  subject,  but 


128  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

which  his  lively  fancy  and  the  warmth  of  his  style  render  at- 
tractive even  to  those,  who  have  but  little  taste  for  the  ques- 
tions of  which  it  treats.  The  controversies  to  which  this  work 
gave  rise,  must  have  embittered  the  last  years  of  his  life,  al- 
though on  no  occasion  had  the  triumph  of  his  genius  been 
more  complete.  But  the  heaviest  blow  that  he  received,  since 
it  was  one  for  which  literary  fame  could  offer  no  compensa- 
tion, was  the  loss  of  his  son-in-law  and  fellow-laborer,  the 
Count  Giulio  Perticari.  Towards  the  close  of  his  days,  he 
resumed  a  work  which  he  had  planned  many  years  before,  and 
in  which  he  had  undertaken  to  celebrate  the  labors  of  Pius 
the  Sixth  in  the  Pontine  Marshes.  An  apoplectic  fit,  with 
which  he  was  seized  in  the  month  of  April,  1826,  found  him 
near  the  termination  of  his  poem ;  but,  although  he  continued 
to  live  until  October  of  1828,  it  was  rather  like  a  long  fare- 
well to  life,  than  life  itself. 

The  Count  Giulio  Perticari  was  born  at  Savignano,  on  the 
15th  of  August,  1779,  and  died  on  the  26th  of  June,  1822. 
He  filled  several  offices,  municipal  as  well  as  literary,  but  the 
greater  part  of  his  brief  career  was  devoted  to  letters.  His 
connection  with  Monti,  whose  daughter  he  had  married,  was 
probably  the  immediate  cause  of  the  active  part  he  took  in 
the  great  philological  dispute  of  his  age ;  and  the  two  treati- 
ses, which  fill  parts  of  the  first  and  second  volumes  of  the 
"  Proposta,"  are  his  best  claim  to  the  thanks  of  posterity. 

We  have  thus  grouped  together  the  three  principal  promo- 
ters of  the  reform  of  the  Italian  language.  Strict  justice 
would  require  the  mention  of  several  others  who  bore  an 
almost  equal  part  in  the  same  noble  enterprise ;  Botta,  whose 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  129 

example  has  done  what  could  never  have  been  accomplished 
by  precept  alone ;  Niccolini,  Giordani,  Colombo,  Grassi, 
Costa,  to  say  nothing  of  the  mere  grammarians  and  an  infi- 
nity of  others,  who  wrote  in  the  controversy  of  the  "  Propos- 
ta."  This  long  contest,  unlike  most  literary  disputes,  must 
be  judged  by  its  results ;  and  to  those  who,  considering  it 
from  this  point  of  view,  compare  the  actual  state  of  the  Ital- 
ian language  with  the  degradation  and  the  corruption  into 
which  it  had  fallen  during  the  last  two  centuries,  it  will  be 
evident,  that  there  has  been  a  general  return  to  purity  of 
idiom,  and,  through  this,  to  purity  of  taste,  which  can  be  at- 
tributed to  no  other  cause.  No  Italian  would  venture  at  the 
present  day  to  hazard  such  opinions  as  degrade  many  of  the 
pages  of  the  Gaffe,  and  few,  if  any,  now  dare  to  present  them- 
selves to  the  public,  without  having  studied  long  and  deeply 
in  the  classics  of  their  native  tongue.  How  far  this  study, 
how  far  the  meditation  of  Dante,  of  Machiavelli,  of  Guicciar- 
dini,  of  Galileo,  and  the  others  of  that  bright  constellation  of 
immortals  who  have  enriched  the  world  with  the  purest  mod- 
els of  thought  and  of  expression,  will  contribute  towards  the 
formation  of  a  pure  Italian  and  national  tone  of  thinking  and 
of  language,  is  a  question  too  easily  solved  to  require  any  illus- 
tration of  ours. 

The  study  of  history  is  the  second  branch  to  which  we 
should  refer,  as  indicative  of  the  actual  state  of  letters  in 
Italy;  and  here,  again,  we  shall  select  a  few  names,  though  at 
the  hazard  of  passing  over  many  almost  equally  deserving  of 
mention. 

And  in  the  first  rank  we  shall  place  a  work  which,  while 


130  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

it  serves  as  a  proof  of  the  general  correctness  of  our  posi- 
tion, serves  at  the  same  time  as  a  striking  confirmation  of 
what  we  had  occasion  to  advance  in  a  former  paper,  concern- 
ing the  nature  of  the  love  which  an  Italian  bears  for  litera- 
ture.* We  mean  to  speak  of  the  "  Documenti  di  Storia  Ital- 
iana,"  of  Giuseppe  Molini.  Such  of  our  readers  as  have 
visited  Florence  will  probably  remember  the  bookstore  of  this 
gentleman.  Some  of  them,  perhaps,  may  remember  Molini 
himself,  his  open,  strongly-marked  countenance,  his  rare  in- 
telligence, and  the  prompt  delight  with  which  he  unfolds  the 
treasures  of  his  bibliographical  lore  for  the  guidance  and  in- 
struction of  every  inquirer.  But  few  know  him  as  a  scholar 
of  merit,  and  as  a  judicious  and  patient  collector  of  the  histor- 
ical records  of  his  country.  Such,  however,  he  has  proved 
himself  in  the  two  volumes  to  which  we  refer,  and  as  such,  he 
deserves  to  be  classed  among  the  lasting  benefactors  of  Italian 
history. 

The  two  volumes  which  compose  Molini's  collection,  con- 
tain four  hundred  and  fifty-eight  documents,  all  of  which 
he  copied  with  his  own  hand  from  the  originals,  which  lie 
scattered  through  the  immense  libraries  of  Paris.  They  con- 
sist of  letters  both  public  and  private,  despatches,  treaties, 
and  general  and  special  instructions,  extending  from  1404  to 
1572,  one  of  the  most  eventful  periods  of  modern  story. 
This  important  accession  to  the  materials  of  Italian  history 
has  become  doubly  valuable,  through  the  labors  of  the  Marquis 
Gino  Capponi,  of  Florence.  The  exact  and  luminous  anno- 
tations, which  he  has  affixed  to  each  document,  can  be  duly 

*  North  American  Review,  Vol.  XL VI,  pp.  337,  et  seq. 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  131 

estimated  by  those  alone  who  have  been  engaged  in  similar 
investigations ;  but  no  one  can  read  them,  and  more  particu- 
larly the  admirable  dissertation  upon  Andrea  Doria,  and  the 
causes  and  the  effects  of  his  emancipation  of  Genoa,  without 
being  convinced,  that,  should  the  health  of  the  noble  author 
be  spared,  we  shall  ere  long  be  able  to  add  one  more  name, 
and  that  of  the  highest  order,  to  the  imperishable  roll  of  Italian 
historians. 

Another  work,  singularly  illustrative  of  the  zeal  with  which 
the  Italians  of  the  present  age  have  devoted  themselves  to  the 
study  of  history  in  its  sources,  is  the  history  of  the  celebrated 
families  of  Italy,  by  the  Count  Pomponio  Litta ;  a  work  still 
in  the  course  of  publication,  and  which,  from  the  immensity  of 
the  field  over  which  it  spreads,  the  profound  and  perplexing 
researches  upon  which  it  is  based,  and  the  completeness  and 
accuracy  of  its  execution,  would  seem  beyond  the  compass  of 
any  single  life. 

Yet  these  works  are  but  the  materials  of  history,  which 
philosophy,  power  of  narration,  and  skill  in  portraying  char- 
acter, can  alone  render  pleasing  and  instructive  to  the  general 
reader.  And  in  this  department  no  age  of  Italian  literature 
stands  higher  than  the  present.  This  portion  of  our  subject  is 
one  of  peculiar  interest,  and  requires  more  ample  illustration. 

Carlo  Giuseppe  Guglielmo  Botta  was  born  at  San  Giorgio 
Canavese,  in  Piedmont,  on  the  6th  of  November,  1766.  His 
father  was  Ignatius  Botta ;  the  family  name  of  his  mother  was 
Boggio.  He  received  the  first  rudiments  of  his  education  in 
his  native  village,  and  under  the  eye  of  his  parents  ;  discover- 
ing at  a  very  early  period  a  decided  taste  for  study  and  a  sin- 


132  ITALIAN  LITERATURE. 

gular  facility  in  learning  languages.  The  dialects  spoken  in 
Piedmont,  are,  as  our  readers  are  doubtless  aware,  among  the 
most  corrupt  of  all  Italy,  so  that  the  necessity  of  studying  as  a 
foreign  tongue,  the  only  language  in  which  they  can  hope  to 
earn  distinction  as  writers,  is  with  the  Piedmontese,  super- 
added  to  the  ordinary  difficulties  of  elementary  studies.* 
Fortunately  for  Botta,  the  class  books  then  in  use  in  the  royal 
schools  of  Piedmont,  were  enriched  with  many  judicious  selec- 
tions from  the  purest  Tuscan  authors,  well  suited  to  catch  the 
attention  of  a  child  of  quick  parts ;  so  that,  with  his  natural 
propensity  to  the  study  of  language,  he  could  hardly  fail  to 
imbibe  that  fondness  for  purity  of  diction,  which  it  is  so  diffi- 
cult to  acquire  in  any  but  the  earlier  periods  of  life.  In  him 
this  taste  was  confirmed  by  the  lessons  of  Tenivelli,  his  mas- 
ter in  rhetoric,  to  whose  memory  he  has  consecrated  one  of 
the  most  touching  episodes  in  his  history  of  Italy.  Having 
completed  his  course  of  rhetoric,  he  entered  the  class  of  phi- 
losophy in  Turin,  where  he  continued  two  years,  until  his 
admission  into  the  provincial  college  of  that  capital.  He  there 
devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  medicine,  a  science  which 
might  almost  be  called  hereditary  in  his  family,  for  it  had 
been  the  profession  of  his  ancestors  for  three  successive  gen- 
erations. Of  all  the  subsidiary  branches  of  medical  science, 
that  which  most  attracted  his  attention  was  botany ;  a  partial- 
ity, which  he  in  a  great  measure  attributed  to  the  lessons  of 
Ignazio  Molineri,  at  that  time  director  of  the  botanical  garden 
of  Turin.     His  progress  in  it  also  would  seem  to  have  been 

*  The  same  observation  applies  to  almost  every  other  part  of  Italy, 
except  Tuscany  and  Home. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  133 

more  than  ordinary,  as  far,  at  least,  as  can  be  judged  from  the 
descriptions  in  his  "History  of  Corfu,"  the  only  work  in  which 
he  was  led  by  the  nature  of  his  subject  to  scientific  investiga- 
tions. But  other  cares  and  studies  of  a  very  different  order 
engaged  his  maturer  years ;  and  though,  towards  the  close  of 
his  life,  he  still  spoke  of  it  with  fondness,  and  as  the  source 
of  many  youthful  pleasures,  as  a  science  he  had  nearly  for- 
gotten it. 

Nor  did  he  allow  himself  to  be  induced,  by  the  gravity  of 
his  professional  pursuits,  to  neglect  the  cultivation  of  his 
taste  in  writing,  and  the  study  of  the  Italian  classics.  Redi, 
himself  a  physician  as  well  as  a  profound  naturalist,  and  who 
has  embellished  even  his  driest  researches  by  the  charms 
of  a  graceful  and  lively  style,  became  an  especial  favorite 
with  Botta,  who,  although  he  never  attempted  to  imitate  the 
sprightliness  and  vivacity  of  that  charming  writer,  drew  from 
the  constant  meditation  of  his  works  a  propriety  of  terms 
and  elegance  of  expression  in  treating  of  common  topics,  of 
which  he  could  nowhere  have  found  a  more  perfect  model. 
The  higher  qualities  of  eloquence,  variety,  and  richness  of 
diction,  skill  in  the  modulation  of  his  periods,  the  power  of 
adapting  his  manner  to  the  subject,  of  bending  language  to 
the  workings  of  his  own  feelings,  and  thus  of  acting,  through 
this  most  flexible  yet  most  difficult  of  materials,  upon  the 
feelings  of  others,  he  studied  in  Boccacio  and  in  Machiavelli ; 
though  all  who  have  read  him  will  acknowledge,  that  the 
characteristic  attributes  of  his  style,  as  of  that  of  all  great 
writers,  were  derived  from  those  of  his  own  mind.  His 
method  of  reading  was  peculiar,  and  shows  his  fixed  deter- 

12 


134  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

mination  to  obtain  command  of  all  the  riches  of  his  native 
tongue.  His  copies  of  Machiavelli,  of  Boccacio,  and,  in  short, 
of  all  his  favorite  authors,  were  carefully  underlined.  Not  a 
word,  not  a  phrase  that  he  thought  worthy  of  remark,  was 
allowed  to  escape  him.  This  system  was  carried  out  into  all 
his  reading,  and  by  means  of  this  he  succeeded,  in  spite  of  the 
numerous  disadvantages  under  which  he  labored,  in  making 
himself  master  of  so  great  a  variety  of  forms,  that  he  could 
always  render,  in  new  and  striking  language,  even  his  slight- 
est shades  of  thought.  The  "  Commentari  Bibliografici,"  a 
literary  journal,  which  was  then  published  at  Turin,  and  to 
which  he  contributed,  afforded  him  the  first  opportunities  of 
trying  his  strength  as  a  writer;  and  that  he  succeeded  at  least 
to  the  satisfaction  of  his  companions,  may  be  fairly  assumed 
from  the  fact  of  his  having  been  chosen  to  compose  in  their 
name,  the  letter,  which,  in  a  moment  of  youthful  enthusiasm, 
they  addressed  to  the  celebrated  Paesiello  upon  his  opera  of 
"Nina." 

At  the  age  of  twenty  he  took  his  degrees  in  medicine,  and 
three  years  afterwards  was  chosen  member  of  the  medical 
college.  Happy  could  he  have  continued  the  peaceful  exer- 
cise of  a  profession  that  he  loved.  But  the  stormy  period  of 
the  French  revolution  was  at  hand.  Placed  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  precipice,  the  Piedmontese  government  stood 
trembling  and  terror-struck,  yet  unable  to  avoid  the  fall. 
An  empty  treasury,  and  discontented  subjects,  are  but  poor 
resources  on  the  eve  of  a  revolution.  The  principles  which 
were  receiving  so  terrific  a  development  in  France,  worked 
their  way  into  Piedmont,  in  spite  of  the  jealous  precautions  of 


ITALIAN  LITERATURE.  135 

power.     But  with  them  came  the  evils  of  all  similar  epochs, 
jealousy,  suspicion,  spies,  and  false  accusations.     Poor  Botta 
was  one  of  the  first  to  feel  their  effects.     He  was  accused  of 
republicanism,  arrested,  and  held  in  close  confinement  in  the 
public  prison.     Cut  off  in  the  spring  of  life,  not  only  from  the 
society  of  his  friends,  but  from  the  hopes  of  youth,  subjected 
to  long  and  perplexing  examinations,  where  a  false  step,  a 
single  mistake,  might  bring  him  to  the  scaffold ;  condemned 
to  drag  on  day  after  day,  in  the  cold,  gloomy,  heart-sickening 
solitude  of  a  dungeon,  had  his  mind  been  cast  in  a  common 
mould,  it  would  have  sunk  under  the  pressure  of  such  accu- 
mulated misfortunes.     As  it  was,  the  iron  entered  deep  into 
his  soul,  and,  even  at  the  distance  of  forty  years,  it  was  but 
seldom,  and  with   evident  pain,  that  he  reverted  to  those 
days  of  trial.     The  companions  of  his  solitude,  and  his  sole 
consolation,  were  a  copy  of  Guicciardini,  a  treatise  of  mathe- 
matics, and  Tristram  Shandy.     It  was  to  this  epoch,  and  to 
the  assiduous  study  of  the  great  Florentine,  that  he  ever  after- 
wards attributed  the  origin  of  his  passion  for  history.     Mean- 
while the   exertions  of  his  friends  were   unremitted.      No 
means  were  left  untried,  whether  of  influence  or  of  entreaty. 
But  all  was  unavailing.     They  could  not  even  obtain  the 
privilege  of  visiting  him ;  and  the  doubts  and  uncertainty,  in 
which  he  was  left  to  languish,  were  not  among  the  least  of  his 
misfortunes.     There  was  one  being,  however,  whose  feelings 
neither  bars  nor  chains  could  repress,  nor  the  damps  of  a 
dungeon  chill.     Even  the  turnkey,  hardened  by  long  familiari- 
ty with  every  variety  of  suffering,  was  won  by  her  generous 
devotion,  and  twice  during  his  captivity  was  Botta  consoled 


136  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

by  the  visits  of  his  intrepid  friend.  They  alone,  who  know 
what  Europe  then  was,  can  appreciate  such  an  instance  of 
devoted  affection. 

At  length,  after  a  rigorous  confinement  of  eighteen  months, 
his  innocence  was  satisfactorily  established,  and  he  was  set 
at  liberty.  His  accuser,  one  of  his  former  fellow-students  and 
companions,  fully  convicted  of  false  accusation,  was  condemn- 
ed to  perpetual  imprisonment.  Yet,  though  his  innocence 
had  been  recognized,  Turin  was  no  longer  a  safe  residence  for 
one  on  whom  the  jealous  eye  of  government  had  once  been 
fixed ;  and,  in  the  struggle  which  was  rapidly  approaching, 
what  hopes  could  there  be  for  a  young  man  but  just  escaped 
from  the  scaffold,  and  dependent  upon  his  profession  for  sup- 
port ?  By  the  advice  of  his  friends  he  retired  into  France, 
and  was  almost  immediately  employed  in  the  medical  staff  of 
the  army  of  the  Alps. 

Here,  while  actively  engaged  in  the  duties  of  his  office,  his 
mind  began  to  yield  more  sensibly  to  the  bias  it  had  received 
from  the  study  of  Guicciardini.  A  great  question  was  in 
agitation  before  and  around  him ;  and,  whatever  might  be  the 
final  decision,  it  could  not  but  be  fraught  with  important  les- 
sons to  humanity.  It  was  in  the  camp,  surrounded  by  the 
rough  and  fearless  soldiers  of  the  revolution,  sharing  in  the 
perils  of  their  marches,  in  the  hardships  and  fatigues  of  their 
encampments,  that  he  first  studied  the  scenes  and  the  events, 
which  he  afterwards  reproduced  with  such  thrilling  reality  in 
his  history  of  his  own  times.  When  the  army  of  the  Alps 
had  forced  its  way  into  Italy,  under  the  guidance  of  Bona- 
parte, Botta  revisited  his  native  land,  and  there,  in  the  inter- 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  137 

vals  of  professional  engagements,  and  in  the  classic  retreat  of 
Pavia,  he  composed  his  first  work,  a  plan  for  the  government 
of  Lombardy ;  a  composition  remarkable  for  the  same  inde- 
pendence of  spirit,  and  attachment  to  the  positive  and  the  pos- 
sible, which  distinguished  all  his  subsequent  writings.  Ardent 
as  was  his  imagination,  he  never  was  a  slave  to  it ;  and,  what- 
ever judgment  be  passed  upon  the  substance  of  his  opinions, 
every  one  must  confess,  that  they  were  purely  his  own,  and 
always  announced  with  the  frank  confidence  of  sincere  con- 
viction. We  have  had  the  opportunity,  and,  well  or  ill,  have 
availed  ourselves  of  it,  of  comparing  many  of  the  opinions 
which  he  uttered  at  this  epoch  in  the  freedom  of  familiar  cor- 
respondence, with  those  which  he  has  recorded  in  his  maturer 
productions.  "We  have  found  many  changes  in  his  judgments 
of  individuals,  some  in  his  hopes  of  the  future,  but  none  in 
his  firm  belief  in  the  holiness  of  those  principles  around  whose 
banner  so  large  a  portion  of  Europe  seemed  to  have  rallied, 
with  a  firm  resolution  to  work  out  their  triumph  at  every 
hazard. 

Towards  the  close  of  1796  he  was  sent  with  a  division  of 
the  army  to  the  Venetian  Islands  of  the  Levant,  where  he 
wrote  his  "  Storia  Naturale  e  Medica  dell'  Isola  di  Corfu." 
In  1798,  the  government  of  Piedmont  was  overthrown,  and 
the  royal  family  driven  into  exile.  Joubert,  to  whom  the 
execution  of  this  disgraceful  act  had  been  confided  by  the 
Directory,  and  whose  virtues  certainly  deserved  a  nobler 
recompense,  did  all  that  he  could  to  favor  the  interests  of 
the  country  intrusted  to  his  care.  It  was  in  this  view  that 
he  formed  a  provisional  government,   composed  of  native 

12* 


138  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

Italians,  of  which  Botta,  who  was  at  that  time  with  the  army 
in  Valtelhia,  and  was  not  personally  known  to  the  general, 
was  made  a  member.  But  that  was  not  the  moment,  in  which 
a  lover  of  his  country,  however  profound  his  knowledge, 
or  however  ardent  his  zeal,  would  have  asked  to  serve  her. 
The  aims  of  the  French  government  were  directed  to  the 
acquisition,  not  to  the  emancipation,  of  Piedmont ;  and  the 
only  reward  of  those,  whose  services  it  saw  fit  to  employ  as 
a  disguise  for  its  real  designs,  was  that  of  all  who  act  with 
sincerity  where  deceit  is  wished  for  and  expected,  the  loss 
of  the  esteem  of  their  fellow-citizens,  and  of  the  confidence 
of  their  masters.  A  series  of  new  revolutions  ensued.  The 
provisional  government  gave  place  to  the  government  of  the 
reunion.  Then  came  the  Austro-Russian  invasion,  —  the 
oppression  of  royalists  succeeding  to  the  oppression  and  pecu- 
lation of  pretended  republicans.  New  armies  poured  down 
the  Alps  to  sustain  the  tottering  cause  of  French  independ- 
ence. Battle  followed  battle  in  rapid  succession.  Meanwhile 
the  plains  of  Piedmont,  a  prey  to  successive  devastations,  her 
population  thinned  by  the  sword,  and  her  fertile  places  made 
desolate,  presented  on  every  side  one  unvaried  aspect  of  hag- 
gard want. 

Botta,  like  all  those  who  had  been  connected  either  by 
opinion  or  by  act  with  the  late  government,  was  compelled 
once  more  to  seek  safety  under  a  foreign  sky ;  and  it  was  at 
this  period,  that  he  first  met  the  poet  Monti  during  his  exile 
at  Chamberry.  We  have  not  space  to  enter  into  the  details 
of  this  epoch,  or  paint  the  sad  communion,  the  solitary  walks 
of  the  two  exiles,  whose  names  were  to  adorn  so  bright  a  page 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  139 

in  the  history  of  their  country.  Fortunately  for  Botta,  his 
former  services  had  not  been  forgotten,  and  Bernadotte,  then 
minister  of  war,  restored  him  to  his  post  of  physician  to  the 
army  of  the  Alps. 

At  length  the  banners  of  France  again  appeared  in  Italy, 
under  the  guidance  of  their  youthful  leader,  and  the  battle 
of  Marengo  decided  for  fourteen  years  the  destinies  of  the 
fairest  portion  of  Europe.  Upon  the  reestablishment  of  the 
French  power  in  Piedmont,  Botta  was  called  to  take  an 
active  part,  in  the  n.ew  government,  first  as  member  of  the 
"  Consulta,"  then  of  the  "  Executive  Committee,"  and  finally 
of  the  "  Board  for  the  general  Administration  of  Piedmont." 
We  shall  mention  but  one  act  of  this  portion  of  his  public 
life.  Among  the  prisoners  still  languishing  in  the  dungeons 
of  Turin,  was  his  former  friend,  he  whose  false  accu- 
sation had  been  the  original  cause  of  all  his  misfortunes. 
Botta,  president  in  1801  of  the  Executive  Committee,  re- 
stored his  enemy  to  freedom,  and  signed  with  his  own  hand 
the  decree  for  his  liberation.  In  1803,  upon  the  final  union 
of  Piedmont  to  France,  he  was  sent  as  a  member  of  the 
deputation,  chosen  to  thank  the  French  government  for  the 
act  of  union,  and  from  that  period  he  seems  to  have  looked 
upon  Paris  as  his  home.  Shortly  after  his  arrival  there,  he 
published  his  "  Precis  Historique  de  la  Maison  de  Savoie  et 
du  Piemont." 

We  hasten  to  bring  to  a  close  this  brief  abstract  of  his 
public  life.  On  the  10th  of  August,  1804,  he  was  chosen 
member  of  the  legislature  for  the  department  of  the  Doria ; 
and  on  the  28th  of  October,  1809,  was  made  Vice  President, 


140  '  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

and  again  reelected  to  the  same  office  in  the  following  year. 
In  December  he  became  a  candidate  for  the  questorship ;  but 
having  indulged  in  some  expressions  upon  the  course  of  gov- 
ernment, which  were  disagreeable  to  the  Emperor,  was  set 
aside  by  express  command.  On  the  3d  of  January  of  the  next 
year,  he  was  sent  by  the  Academy  of  Turin  as  a  member  of 
the  deputation  chosen  to  present  to  Napoleon,  in  their  name, 
the  two  last  volumes  of  their  memoirs. 

The  duties  of  these  situations,  as  is  well  known  to  every 
one  acquainted  with  the  history  of  those  days,  were  merely 
nominal.  This  period  was  dedicated  by  Botta  to  those  pur- 
suits, which,  hitherto,  he  had  only  been  able  to  cultivate  in 
moments  snatched  from  graver  and  less  genial  occupations. 
He  was  already  known  as  an  author,  and  that  advantageously, 
but  had  not  as  yet  found  a  subject  suited  to  the  display  of  his 
wonderful  powers  of  description  and  narration,  and  of  those 
stores  of  practical  philosophy,  which  he  had  drawn  from  his 
brief  but  rough  experience  of  life. 

The  first  idea  of  his  history  of  the  American  Revolution 
was  suggested  by  a  conversation  that  took  place  in  the  house 
of  Madame  Manzoni,  or  as  the  Italians,  out  of  reverence  to 
the  memory  of  her  father,  called  her,  Madama  Beccaria.  The 
choicest  society  in  Paris  met  in  the  rooms  of  this  lady,  and  it 
may  readily  be  supposed  that  Botta  was  of  the  number.  One 
evening  the  conversation  chanced  to  fall  upon  the  great  events 
of  modern  history,  and  their  adaptation  to  epic  poetry.  The 
discussion  was  long  and  animated,  and  scarce  an  event  but 
found  its  advocate ;  but  it  was  at  last  unanimously  decided  in 
favor  of  our  Revolution,  as  furnishing,  of  all  others,  the  char- 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  141 

acters  and  the  incidents  most  worthy  of  the  sublimity  of  the 
epic.  Botta  returned  homewards  absorbed  in  the  considera- 
tion of  the  evening's  debate.  His  way  led  him  through  that 
square  in  the  rear  of  the  Tuileries,  the  name  of  which  is  so 
closely  associated  with  the  most  horrid  excesses  of  the  French 
Revolution.  "  Why,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  if  it  be  a  fit  subject 
for  a  poem,  should  it  not  be  fitter  still  for  a  history  ?"  He  was 
pausing  unawares  near  the  spot,  which  a  few  years  before  had 
been  wet  with  the  blood  of  a  king,  a  queen,  and  the  long  line 
of  victims  of  the  reign  of  terror.  "  It  is,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will 
write  it."  From  that  moment  he  devoted  himself,  with  en- 
thusiastic ardor,  to  the  collection  of  documents,  of  maps,  of 
books,  of  private  remarks  and  journals,  of  whatever,  in  short, 
could  illustrate  the  event  and  give  interest  and  authenticity  to 
his  narrative ;  and  in  1809  his  work  was  presented  to  the 
public  in  four  volumes,  octavo.  The  concluding  pages  of  the 
last  book,  in  which  he  had  undertaken  to  examine  the  causes 
which  gave  to  our  Revolution  an  issue  so  different  from  that 
of  similar  attempts  in  other  countries,  were  suppressed  by  the 
Imperial  censor,  and  have  never  been  published. 

This  work  attracted  from  its  first  appearance  universal  at- 
tention, and  was  immediately  reprinted  in  Italy.  The  charm 
of  a  narrative  sustained  with  unabated  vigor  through  four  en- 
tire volumes,  the  poetic  warmth  of  the  descriptions,  the  glow- 
ing eloquence  of  the  whole  composition,  were  universally  felt 
and  admired.  But  the  language  and  the  style,  rigorously 
formed  on  the  classic  models  of  Italian  literature,  those  models 
against  whose  authority  the  endeavors  of  so  large  a  portion  of 
the  writers  of  that  period  were  constantly  directed,  could  not 


142  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

meet  with  the  same  undivided  approbation.  The  controversy 
which  ensued  was  long  and  bitter,  though  less  so,  perhaps, 
than  that  of  the  "  Proposta."  The  result  was  equally  favor- 
able to  the  cause  of  the  reform  of  the  Italian  language.  Botta 
himself  took  but  a  slight  part  in  it,  yet  a  decided  one.  His 
opinions  had  been  recorded  in  his  work,  and  that  in  a  manner 
too  striking  to  be  misunderstood.  The  corrections  which  he 
made  in  subsequent  editions,  amount  to  nothing  more  than  a 
few  notes  written  in  the  margin  of  his  own  copy ;  and  as  for 
the  rest,  he  quietly  awaited  the  decision  of  time. 

Had  he  now  been  at  liberty  to  indulge  his  own  inclinations, 
he  would  probably  have  entered  at  once  upon  his  "  History  of 
Italy."  But  how  could  he  hope  to  tell,  during  the  reign  of 
Napoleon,  the  whole  story  of  her  wrongs,  of  her  sufferings, 
and  of  her  betrayal  ?  Anxious,  however,  to  write  of  Italy, 
and  unable  to  do  it  in  any  other  form,  he  turned  his  attention 
to  verse,  and  composed  his  poem  of  "  Camillo." 

With  the  fall  of  Napoleon  his  trials  began  anew.  The 
separation  of  Piedmont  from  France  necessarily  deprived  him 
of  his  rank  as  representative.  His  small  patrimony  was  in- 
sufficient for  the  support  of  his  family ;  and  where,  at  such  a 
moment,  could  he  look  for  new  resources  ?  To  crown  all,  his 
wife,  the  cherished  companion  of  his  studies  and  of  his  recre- 
ations, was  slowly  sinking  under  a  mortal  disease,  and  fading, 
day  by  day,  before  him.  It  was  then,  that,  to  procure  the 
means  of  obtaining  for  her  the  privilege  of  breathing  once 
more  her  native  air,  he  sold  to  an  apothecary,  at  the  price  of 
waste  paper,  the  last  six  hundred  copies  of  his  "  History  of 
the  American  War."     Vain  effort  of  self-deluding  love !  they 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  143 

Daring  the  hundred  days,  he  was  appointed  rector  of  the 
Academy  of  Nancy,  an  office  which  he  lost  upon  the  return 
of  the  Bourbons.  In  1817,  he  received  a  similar  appoint- 
ment at  the  Academy  of  Rouen,  which  he  held  for  nearly  five 
years.  During  his  residence  in  this  city,  he  arranged  the 
materials  which  he  had  long  been  engaged  in  collecting  for 
the  history  of  Italy  from  1789  to  1814,  —  a  period  which 
might  be  called  the  history  of  his  own  times.  Upon  his  re- 
turn to  Paris,  he  carried  with  him  the  manuscript  of  this  work. 
But  who  would  venture  to  publish  it  ?  He  could  not,  for  want 
of  means.  A  rigid  censorship  guarded  the  presses  of  Italy ; 
and  the  publishers  of  Paris  saw  but  little  to  tempt  them  in  a 
long  history,  written  in  a  foreign  language.  But  for  the  gen- 
erosity of  a  private  friend,  Poggi  of  Parma,  it  might  still, 
perhaps,  have  lain  in  manuscript  and  unknown.  This  gentle- 
man, with  a  liberality  which  should  never  be  forgotten  by  the 
admirer  of  Italian  literature,  printed  it  at  his  own  expense,  in 
four  magnificent  quartos.  A  French  translation,  and  nearly 
a  dozen  successive  editions,  which  immediately  appeared  in 
almost  every  part  of  Italy,  and  in  every  variety  of  form,  were 
sufficient  proofs  of  its  success. 

But,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  author  was  languishing  in  Paris 
from  actual  want.  The  loss  of  his  office  had  left  him  nearly 
destitute ;  and  his  writings,  so  productive  to  others,  had,  with 
the  exception  of  the  prize  of  the  Crusca,  and  the  gift  of  a  cer- 
tain number  of  copies  from  Rosini  of  Pisa,  and  a  set  of  his 
own  editions  by  Molini  of  Florence,  by  whom  his  History  had 
been  republished,  produced  him  nothing  but  controversies  and 
fame.     The  booksellers  afforded  a  small  resource.     Several 


144  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

articles  for  the  "  Biographie  Universelle,"  and  the  "  History 
of  the  People  of  Italy,"  a  work  in  three  volumes,  which  was 
written  in  as  many  months,  procured  him  a  temporary  relief. 
We  hasten  to  avert  our  eyes  from  this  page  of  misery.  In 
January,  1826,  proposals  were  issued  to  raise  a  sum  of  money 
to  support  Botta  during  the  time  that  he  might  require  in  or- 
der to  compose  a  second  History  of  Italy,  uniting  the  work  of 
Guicciardini  with  his  own,  and  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
publication.  In  April  of  the  same  year  he  commenced  wri- 
ting, and,  before  the  close  of  1830,  the  work  was  completed. 

It  was  while  he  was  employed  upon  this  work,  that  we  first 
became  acquainted  with  him.  He  was  living  in  a  remote 
quarter  of  Paris,  in  humble  lodgings,  and  attended  by  a  single 
domestic.  We  found  him  in  the  little  room  which  served  him 
both  for  parlor  and  study,  engaged  in  correcting  the  proofs  of 
the  second  volume.  The  bust  of  Sarpi  stood  upon  the  table 
where  he  wrote,  and  on  the  wall  hung  the  portrait  of  one, 
whose  name  is  associated  with  the  most  interesting  moments 
of  his  existence.  It  may  have  been  fact,  or  it  may  have  been 
prepossession,  but  it  appeared  to  us,  that  there  was  a  com- 
manding dignity  in  his  simple  address,  which  went  directly  to 
the  heart.  His  countenance  was  strongly  marked ;  and  the 
deep  lines  of  his  brow,  and  the  furrows  of  his  cheek,  seemed 
to  tell  both  of  study  and  of  age,  but  perhaps  more  of  sorrow 
than  of  either.  His  forehead  was  high,  and  remarkably  full  ; 
his  eye  clear,  and  at  times  sparkling ;  the  whole  cast  of  his 
features  pleasing,  and  his  aspect  generally  mild,  although  there 
was  an  expression  of  singular  firmness  and  decision  about  his 
nostrils,  which  we  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  in  an  equal 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  145 

degree  in  any  other  face.  Of  himself  and  his  works  he  spoke 
freely,  but  with  unaffected  modesty  ;  the  same  of  his  contem- 
poraries ;  nor  had  he  the  least  appearance  of  talking  for  effect. 
Every  now  and  then,  he  startled  you  with  one  of  those  pithy 
sayings,  which  he  has  introduced  with  so  much  tact  into  par- 
ticular portions  of  his  writings ;  but  they  dropped  from  him  so 
naturally,  that  it  was  impossible  to  suppose  them  premeditated. 
He  was  especially  fond  of  anecdote,  and  his  inexhaustible 
memory  supplied  him  with  a  ready  store  for  every  topic. 
Perhaps  the  graceful  and  idiomatic  language,  in  which  he 
always  clothed  them,  would  have  reminded  you  of  the  author,, 
but  that  there  was  something  so  natural  in  his  manner  of  ut- 
tering it,  as  to  take  away  all  appearance  of  study  or  of  effort. 
Not  long  afterward  he  paid  his  last  visit  to  Piedmont.  His 
reception  was  all  that  he  could  have  wished,  far  more  than 
he  could  ever  have  hoped  for.  A  liberal  pension  was  settled 
upon  him,  and  every  inducement  offered,  which  seemed  likely 
to  win  him  back  to  his  native  land.  But  there  were  too  many 
bitter  remembrances  there,  too  much  uncertainty  in  the  future, 
for  him  to  think  of  such  a  change ;  and  the  few  years  that 
might  yet  be  granted  him,  he  wished  to  spend  in  quiet  and  in 
repose.  Such,  however,  was  not  his  destiny ;  and  life,  which 
had  already  poured  forth  to  him  so  largely  from  her  cup  of 
sorrow,  had  still  its  dregs  in  store  to  embitter  the  cold,  brief 
evening  of  his  days.  One  of  the  most  painful  of  all  diseases 
fastened  upon  him.  His  nights  became  sleepless,  his  days 
agonizing.  He  was  deprived  of  exercise  and  air,  unless  a 
short  walk,  which  he  could  never  venture  to  extend  far  from 
his  own  door,  could  be  called  such.  Nor  had  he  even  the 
13 


146  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

consolation  of  the  society  of  his  children,  called  in  the  exer- 
cise of  their  professions  to  different  and  distant  parts  of  the 
world.     Still  he  preserved  his  cheerfulness  and  equanimity 
to  the  very  last ;  and  his  letters  and  his  conversation  were 
filled  with  the  same  spirit  which  had  animated  his  happier 
moments.     His  Virgil  and  his  Boccacio  were  constantly  by 
him ;  nor  shall  we  ever  forget  the  look  with  which  he  one 
day  brought  to  us,  in  his  little  study,  the  music  of  the  "  Nina" 
of  Paesiello,  and  laid  it  upon  a  chair  with  his  flute,  the  com- 
panion of  long  years  of  ever-varying  fortune,  his  repose  in 
weariness,  his  solace  in  trouble,  and  which  even  then,  as  it  lay 
mute  before  him,  seemed  to  diffuse  around  a  momentary  calm, 
and  call  up  the  shadows  of  departed  joys.     Towards  the  close 
of  1836,  his  disease  increased,  and  was  attended  by  frequent 
fevers,  that  confined  him  to  his  bed.     In  the  beginning  of  the 
following  year  his  debility  became  excessive.     We  have  be- 
fore us  letters  written  from  his  bed  but  a  few  months  previous 
to  his  decease,  and  with  a  hand  so  feeble  as  to  be  hardly  legi- 
ble.    In  this  state  he  lingered  on  through  the  summer  of  1837, 
and  finally  expired  in  the  month  of  September.     His  remains 
were  interred  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  amid  the 
poets,  the  warriors,  the  statesmen  of  modern  story.     But  there 
is  no  tomb  in  that  boundless  city  of  the  dead,  whether  decked 
with  the  choicest  expressions  of  sculptured  grief,  or  eloquent 
from  the  mere  memory  of  the  dust  that  moulders  in  its  bosom, 
by  which  the  American  should  tread  with  deeper  devotion 
than  by  the  tomb  of  Botta.     And  there,  too,  when  the  pas- 
sions and  the  prejudices  of  the  present  shall  have  passed  away, 
shall  the  pilgrim  from  his  own  sunny  clime  come  to  offer  up 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  147 

the  homage  of  his  tears.  As  for  us  who  knew  and  who  loved 
him,  this  brief  tribute,  though  feeble  and  unadorned,  may  nob 
perhaps,  pass  unregarded ;  for  it  is  the  expression  of  feelings 
formed  in  the  freedom  of  familiar  intercourse,  a  lingering  of 
memory  around  days  that  she  would  fain  recall,  and  which, 
from  the  dim  regions  of  the  inexorable  past,  have  left  behind 
them  the  consoling  assurance,  that  our  cares  were  not  all  un- 
availing, and  that  he  felt  and  appreciated  the  efforts  that  we 
made  to  smooth  away  some  part  of  the  ruggedness  of  his 
pathway  to  the  grave. 

We  have  allowed  our  pen  to  run  on  so  freely  in  the  pre- 
ceding sketch,  that  we  find  ourselves  constrained  to  curtail  the 
remarks  which  we  intended  to  offer  upon  the  literary  merits 
of  Botta.  The  same  causes  which  concurred  in  giving  him  so 
decided  a  taste  for  the  best  writers  of  his  native  tongue,  led 
him  to  view  with  particular  fondness  the  school  in  which  they 
had  been  formed.  His  profound  knowledge  of  Latin  favored 
the  cultivation  of  this  partiality,  and  enabled  him  to  study  at 
the  very  sources  of  classic  eloquence.  Hence,  when  he  took 
up  his  pen  for  the  composition  of  history,  it  was  with  a  mind 
warm  from  the  meditation  of  Livy,  of  Tacitus,  and  of  those 
who,  by  treading  closely  in  their  footsteps,  have  formed  the 
most  durable  school  of  modern  history.  Thus  the  form  of  his 
works,  naturally, — we  had  almost  said,  necessarily, — became 
classic.  His  narrative  is  arranged  and  conducted  with  con- 
summate art.  Sketches,  portraits,  and  full  descriptions  are 
disposed  at  proper  intervals,  according  to  the  nature  and  im- 
portance of  the  incident  or  of  the  person.  If  there  be  an  im- 
portant question  to  weigh,  he  puts  it  into  the  form  of  a  debate, 


148  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

and  makes  you  a  listener  to  the  discussions  of  the  actual  he- 
roes of  the  scene.  It  is  thus  that  he  brings  you  to  the  grave 
deliberations  of  the  Venetian  senate,  or  placing  you,  as  it  were, 
in  some  hidden  recess,  discloses  to  you  the  midnight  councils 
of  a  band  of  conspirators.  And  often,  so  powerful  is  the  charm 
of  his  eloquence,  you  feel  excited,  chilled,  terror-struck, — 
moved,  in  short,  by  turns,  with  all  the  feelings  that  such  a 
scene  is  calculated  to  awaken. 

His  narrations,  if  compared  with  those  of  the  great  histori- 
ans of  antiquity,  will  be  found  to  possess  two  of  the  highest 
qualities  of  which  this  kind  of  writing  is  susceptible ;  clear- 
ness, and  animation.  He  never  wrote  until  he  had  completed 
his  study  of  the  event ;  and  then,  by  the  assistance  of  a  most 
exact  and  retentive  memory,  he  wrote  it  out  just  in  the  order 
in  which  it  arranged  itself  in  his  head.  He  was  thus  enabled 
to  give  his  narrative  that  appearance  of  unity  of  conception, 
which  it  is  impossible  to  communicate,  unless  where  the  mind 
has,  from  the  very  first,  embraced  the  subject  in  its  full  extent. 
The  glow  of  composition,  moreover,  was  never  interrupted, 
and  he  was  free  to  enter  with  the  full  force  of  his  feelings  into 
the  spirit  of  the  scenes  he  was  describing.  Hence  many  who 
deny  him  others  of  the  higher  qualities  of  an  historian,  allow 
him  to  be  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  narrators. 

His  descriptions  have  more  of  the  warmth  of  poetry  in  them, 
than  those  of  any  other  modern  historian  with  whose  works 
we  are  acquainted.  Here,  indeed,  he  seems  to  be  upon  his 
own  ground ;  and,  whether  he  describe  a  battle-field,  a  mid- 
night assault,  a  sack,  the  siege  or  the  storming  of  a  city  or  of 
a  fortress, — the  convulsions,  in  short,  of  man  or  of  nature  her- 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  149 

self, — he  is  everywhere  equally  master  of  his  subject.  His 
eye  seems  to  take  in  the  whole  at  a  glance,  and  seize  instinc- 
tively upon  those  points  which  are  best  calculated  to  char- 
acterize the  scene.  If  he  leaves  less  to  the  reader  than 
Tacitus  or  Sallust,  the  incidents  that  he  introduces  are  so  well 
chosen,  that  they  seize  forcibly  upon  the  imagination,  and 
never  fail  to  produce  their  full  effect.  His  description  of  the 
flight  of  the  French  exiles  from  Savoy,  of  the  passages  of  the 
Alps  by  Bonaparte  and  by  Macdonald,  of  the  sack  of  Pavia, 
of  the  siege  of  Famagosta,  and  of  the  earthquake  in  Calabria, 
may  be  cited  as  equal  to  anything  that  ever  was  written. 
Read  the  taking  of  Siena  by  Cosimo  the  First.  You  are 
moved  as  if  you  were  on  the  spot,  and  were  witnessing  with 
your  own  eyes  that  scene  of  horror.  You  can  see  the  band 
of  exiles  worn  down,  emaciated,  by  watching  and  by  want. 
The  whole  story  of  the  past  is  graved  upon  their  deathlike 
countenances.  As  the  melancholy  train  moves  slowly  onward, 
sighs,  tears,  ill  suppressed  groans  force  their  way.  They 
touch  even  the  hearts  of  the  victors.  Every  hand  is  stretched 
out  to  succor  and  to  console.  But  grief  and  hardship  have 
done  their  work.  Their  files  were  thin,  when  they  passed 
for  the  last  time  the  gate  of  their  beloved  home ;  but,  ere  they 
reach  the  banks  of  the  Arbia,  many  a  form  has  sunk  ex- 
hausted and  death-struck  by  the  way.  And,  to  complete  the 
picture,  he  adds  one  little  touch,  which  we  give  in  the  original, 
for  the  force  of  the  transposition  would  be  lost  in  English. 
"  Sapevano  bene  di  aver  perduto  una  patria,  ma  se  un'  altra 
ne  avrebbero  trovata,  nol  sapevano." 
The  portraits  of  Botta  are  not  equal  to  the  other  parts  of 
13* 


150  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

his  writings.  No  writer  ever  described  character  by  action 
better  than  he ;  but,  in  the  uniting  of  those  separate  traits 
which  constitute  individual  character,  and  those  slight  and 
delicate  shades  which  diversify  it,  he  often  fails.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  his  views  of  the  general  progress  of  civiliza- 
tion. He  never,  indeed,  loses  sight  of  this  capital  point ;  and 
some  of  his  sketches,  such  for  example  as  the  whole  first 
book  of  his  "  History  of  Italy  from  1789,"  are  admirable ;  but 
the  development  of  the  individual  and  of  society,  and  their 
mutual  and  reciprocal  action,  are  not  kept  so  constantly  in 
view,  and  made  to  march  on  with  the  body  of  the  narrative, 
with  all  that  distinctness  and  precision,  which  we  have  a  right 
to  expect  from  so  great  a  writer. 

The  moral  bearing  of  every  event,  and  of  every  character, 
is,  on  the  contrary,  always  placed  in  full  relief.  Here  his 
judgment  is  never  at  fault ;  and  the  high  and  the  low,  the  dis- 
tant and  the  near,  are  alike  brought  with  stern  impartiality  to 
answer  for  their  deeds  at  the  tribunal  of  historical  morality. 
f  O  si,"  he  cries,  addressing  himself,  after  the  relation  of  one 
of  the  most  horrid  acts  ever  perpetrated,  to  those  who  flatter 
themselves  with  the  hope,  that  their  greatness  will  always 
prove  a  sufficient  screen  from  the  infamy  that  they  deserve, 
"  infamativi  pure  co'  fatti,  che  la  storia  vi  infamera  co'  detti." 
And  nowhere  is  the  goodness  of  his  own  heart  more  apparent, 
than  in  the  delight  with  which  he  dwells  upon  those  few  happy 
days,  which  sometimes  break  in  like  an  unexpected  gleam 
of  sunshine  upon  the  monotonous  gloom  of  history ;  entering 
into  all  the  minuter  details,  and  setting  off  the  event  and  its 
hero,  by  some  well-chosen  anecdote  or  apposite  reflection. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  151 

Of  his  style  we  have,  perhaps,  already  said  enough.  Purity 
of  diction,  richness,  variety,  and  an  almost  intuitive  adaptation 
of  construction  and  of  language  to  the  changes  of  the  subject, 
are  its  leading  characteristics.  The  variety  of  his  terms  is 
wonderful ;  and  no  one,  who  has  not  read  him  with  attention, 
can  form  a  correct  idea  of  the  power  and  inexhaustible  re- 
sources of  the  Italian.  A  simple  narrator,  an  exciting  orator, 
soft,  winning,  stern,  satirical  at  will,  consummate  master  of  all 
the  secrets  of  art,  he  seems  to  us  to  have  carried  many  parts 
of  historical  composition  to  a  very  high  pitch  of  perfection ; 
and,  if  in  some  he  appear  less  satisfactory,  it  is  because  he 
falls  below  the  standard  that  we  have  formed  from  his  own 
writings,  rather  than  any  that  we  have  derived  from  those  of 
others. 

The  "  History  of  the  Kingdom  of  Naples,"  by  Pietro  Col- 
letta,  was  published  at  Capolago,  in  1834,  in  two  volumes,  oc- 
tavo. This  work  comprises  the  space  of  nearly  one  hundred 
years,  from  1734  to  1825.  Colletta,  like  Botta,  was  an  eye- 
witness and  an  actor  in  many  of  the  scenes  that  he  describes. 
His  youth,  also,  was  passed  in  the  turbulence  of  revolution, 
wa3  equally  checkered  with  the  vicissitude  of  prosperous  and 
of  adverse  fortune,  and  his  days  closed  in  poverty  and  in  exile. 
Happier  in  one  thing  than  Botta,  that  the  spot  of  his  exile 
was  less  distant  from  that  of  his  nativity,  and  that  his  last 
years  were  passed  under  the  sky  of  Italy ;  but  still  his  home 
was  Naples, — 

u  e  chi  vi  nacque 
Sotto  qual  cielo  non  senti  1'  esiglio  V* 

The  life  of  Colletta  has  been  written  by  his  friend  and  edi- 


152  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

tor,  and  with  so  much  eloquence,  both  of  philosophy  and  of 
feeling,  that  none  would  venture  to  abridge,  few  to  translate  it. 
Referring  our  readers  to  that  exquisite  sketch,  we  shall  con- 
fine our  remarks  to  his  literary  character. 

The  "  History  of  Naples"  by  Giannone,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  productions  ever  published,  since  it  accomplished 
fully  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  composed,  terminates  with 
the  death  of  Charles  the  Second,  in  1700.  Colletta,  after  a 
rapid  sketch  of  the  events  of  the  first  thirty-three  years  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  enters  upon  a  full  narration,  with  the  con- 
quest of  the  kingdom  of  Naples  and  Sicily  by  Charles  Bour- 
bon. This  period  in  the  history  of  Naples  was  full  of  mo- 
mentous changes.  The  passage  from  the  government  of  a 
viceroy  to  that  of  a  resident  sovereign ;  reforms  in  the  laws, 
in  the  usages,  in  the  whole  civil  state,  of  the  nation,  and  hence 
a  new  and  more  enlarged  system  of  foreign  intercourse ;  a  re- 
markable development  of  individual  genius ;  a  constant  strug- 
gle, between  two  adverse  forms  of  civilization  ;  together  with 
the  convulsions,  the  public  and  private  desolation,  of  five  revo- 
lutions ;  such  is  the  theme  which  he  has  treated  in  the  two 
volumes  of  his  "  History  of  Naples."  To  say  that  he  has  done 
it  well,  that  he  has  studied  it  profoundly  and  in  detail,  that  he 
has  entered  deeply  into  the  spirit  of  the  events  and  of  the  men, 
would  be  but  meagre  praise.  He  brought  to  his  undertaking 
the  highest  qualifications  that  an  historian  can  possess; — a 
mind  formed  in  the  school  of  experience  and  of  adversity ; 
an  indomitable  will ;  a  clear  perception  of  causes  and  of  gen- 
eral principles ;  patience  and  assiduity  in  the  search  of  truth, 
and  a  heart  to  kindle  and  to  glow  in  the  narration  of  it. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  153 

His  narrative  is  distinct  and  animated,  but  not  flowing  nor 
always  easy.  His  descriptions,  on  the  contrary,  are  always 
animated  and  natural.  His  military  descriptions,  in  particu- 
lar, are  written  with  the  feeling  of  a  soldier  and  the  science  of 
a  profound  strategian.  He  paints  to  the  life,  and,  in  all  his 
delineations  of  individual  character,  you  see  the  quick  eye  of 
a  man  long  skilled  in  reading  the  secret  workings  of  the  heart. 
But  the  strongest  portions  of  his  work  are  the  admirable  pas- 
sages which  he  has  devoted  to  a  minute  description  of  the 
wants  and  reforms  of  the  state.  No  historian  ever  felt  more 
deeply  the  importance  of  interweaving  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion with  the  whole  course  of  his  narration,  and  thus  giving 
at  one  view  the  results  as  well  as  the  march  of  history.  In 
the  writings  of  Colletta,  you  not  only  see  what  men  were,  but 
why  they  were  so ;  not  the  naked  act,  but  its  cause  and  its 
consequences.  Thus,  every  science  connected  with  history 
(and  which  of  the  moral  and  political  sciences  has  not  its 
sources  there  ?  )  will  find  both  principles  and  illustrations  in 
this  wonderful  work.  His  style  is  pure,  and  remarkable  for 
its  terseness  and  its  energy.  Peculiarly  his  own,  formed  upon 
no  model,  nor  formed,  indeed,  until  the  necessity  of  writing 
compelled  him  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  study  of  language, 
it  bears  the  impress  of  his  mind,  and  reveals  in  every  sen- 
tence the  stern,  prompt  energy  and  commanding  dignity  of 
his  character. 

We  are  compelled  to  pass  over  many  other  historical 
works  belonging  to  the  same  period ;  —  the  "  Commentaries  " 
of  Papi  on  the  French  Revolution,  in  which  the  great  events 
of  modern  story  are  narrated  with  impartiality,  and  with  no 


154  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

ordinary  share  of  feeling  and  of  philosophy;  the  "History 
of  Liguria,"  by  Serra;  the  same  subject  treated  by  Varese; 
and  an  infinity  of  other  civil  and  military  histories,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  histories  of  literature  and  of  the  arts,  of  sculp- 
ture by  Cicognara,  of  Italian  painting  by  Lanzi,  of  Italian 
literature  by  Corniani  and  Ugoni,  and  numerous  other  pro- 
ductions of  different  degrees  of  merit,  but  of  which  the  cata- 
logue alone  shows  to  what  extent  the  study  of  history  has 
flourished  in  Italy  during  the  epoch  of  which  we  have  under- 
taken to  speak. 

The  state  of  philosophical  studies  in  Italy  is  another  branch 
of  our  subject,  which,  whether  it  be  considered  as  a  token 
of  the  present,  or  as  an  earnest  of  the  future,  is  deserving 
of  profound  attention.  Much  misrepresentation  prevails  in 
foreign  countries  with  regard  to  the  state  of  letters  in  Italy ; 
but  upon  no  department  of  study  have  grosser  errors  been 
promulgated  than  upon  this.  Some  writers  of  the  modern 
French  school  claim  for  themselves  the  merit  of  having  in- 
troduced into  the  Peninsula  the  doctrines  which  prevail 
there;  and,  by  a  gross  anachronism,  attribute  to  the  works 
of  Cousin  the  honor  of  having  given  rise  to  a  school,  whose 
foundations  had  been  laid  several  years  before  that  eloquent 
professor  made  the  first  exposition  of  his  doctrines  from  his 
chair  in  fhe  University  of  Paris ;  and  Cousin  himself,  with  a 
haste,  excusable,  perhaps,  in  so  successful  a  teacher,  repre- 
sents the  future  philosophy  of  Italy  as  wholly  dependent  upon 
the  direction  it  may  receive  from  France.  The  circulation  of 
such  opinions,  bearing  with  them  the  sanction  of  a  name  of  so 
much  pretension  in  the  philosophical  world,  will  be  a  sufficient 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  155 

excuse  for  the  minuteness  of  some  portions  of  the  following 
remarks. 

The  study  of  philosophy  in  Italy,  during  the  first  fifteen 
years  of  the  present  century,  was  for  the  most  part  limited 
to  the  school  of  Condillac.  The  ideology  of  De  Tracy,  so 
remarkable  for  its  distinctness  and  simplicity,  and  so  attrac- 
tive from  the  apparent  facility  with  which  it  solves  the  most 
important  questions,  was  considered  as  the  best  exposition  of 
the  principles  of  the  school  to  which  he  belonged,  and  very 
generally  studied.  In  the  schools,  Soave  continued  to  hold 
his  place,  and  scarce  any  ventured  beyond  a  bare  analysis  of 
ideas.  But  this  order  of  things  could  not  last  long.  A  na- 
tion so  acute  and  so  profound,  could  not  fail  to  bring  their 
principles  to  the  test,  both  by  carrying  them  out  to  their  re- 
mote consequences,  and  by  considering  them  in  their  con- 
nection with  other  sciences.  The  old  school  of  their  native 
philosophers  had  left  its  traces  too  deeply  impressed  on  all  the 
greatest  productions  of  their  literature,  to  admit  of  their  long 
forgetting  a  method  so  just,  and  principles  so  comprehensive 
and  so  sublime.  As  early  as  1803,  the  theories  of  the  schools 
of  Locke  and  of  Kant  were  attacked  by  Tamburini,  so  far  as 
they  relate  to  the  fundamental  doctrines  of  moral  philosophy ; 
and,  in  a  work  published  in  1823,  the  same  author  has  touched 
with  rare  judgment  upon  the  great  question  of  the  possible 
perfection  of  the  human  race,  which  is  so  warmly  agitated  at 
this  moment. 

But  the  full  revival  of  philosophical  studies  in  Italy  dates 
from  1815,  and  received  its  first  impulse,  though  not  its 
doctrines,  from  abroad,  and  more  particularly  from  the  efforts 


156  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

made  in  France  to  overthrow  the  school  of  Condillac.  From 
that  period,  its  progress  has  been  constant  and  rapid,  and  it 
already  counts  numerous  productions  of  a  very  high  order, 
and  which,  while  belonging  to  different  schools,  have  too 
many  of  the  characteristic  attributes  of  the  Italian  mind  about 
them  to  be  confounded  with  those  of  any  other  people.  We 
hardly  need  observe,  to  those  who  are  at  all  conversant  with 
philosophical  disquisition,  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  com- 
press within  the  limits  of  a  few  pages,  even  a  succinct  analy- 
sis of  the  principles  of  these  different  schools.  The  utmost 
that  we  can  offer  will  be  a  sort  of  bibliographical  catalogue  of 
the  principal  leaders,  with  here  and  there  a  hasty  sketch  of 
their  doctrines.  A  somewhat  clearer  idea  may  be  given  by 
following  the  classification  of  Poli,  whose  valuable  work  we 
are  happy  to  cite  as  giving  authenticity  to  this  difficult  portion 
of  our  subject.  * 

The  first  class  is  that  of  positive  and  negative  eclectics,  or 
empirical  rationalists ;  to  which  belong  Tamburini,  Galuppi, 
Poli,  and  many  others,  who,  however  much  they  may  differ 
in  the  details  of  their  systems,  agree  in  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciples of  eclecticism.  The  most  distinguished  writer  of  the 
school  is  the  Baron  Pasquale  Galuppi,  a  native  of  Tropea, 
in  Calabria,  now  professor  in  the  Royal  University  of  Na- 
ples. The  works  of  Galuppi  are  numerous  and  extensive, 
but  all  written  with  one  view,  the  discussion  of  the  most 
important  questions  of  philosophy.  His  first  publication  was 
the  "  Saggio  filosofico  sulla  Critica  della  Conoscenza,"  in 
which  he  has  entered  into  a  full  examination  of  the  two  fun- 

*Baldassare  Poli,  Supplementi  al  Manuale  di  Tenneman. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  157 

damental  questions  of  philosophy;  the  possibility  and  the 
nature  of  our  knowledge.  In  reply  to  the  first  query,  he  de- 
monstrates the  possibility  of  our  knowledge,  confuting  at  length 
the  sophistry  of  the  skeptical  school,  and  proving  that  this 
knowledge  is  acquired  by  means  of  the  intellectual  faculties, 
which  are  the  source  of  our  ideas,  and  that  the  mind  arrives 
at  the  truth,  when  it  assents  to  or  denies  any  thing  by  force  of 
a  deciding  motive. 

He  gives  a  full  analysis  of  the  intellectual  phenomena, 
deducing  from  it  as  a  general  result  the  reality  of  our  knowl- 
edge, and  the  consequent  falseness  of  skepticism.  Having 
established  this  point,  he  goes  on  to  show  how  we  pass,  in  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge,  from  the  world  of  thought  to  that 
of  positive  existence.  As  a  connecting  point  between  them 
he  admits  the  existence  of  universal  ideas,  neither  purely 
empirical  nor  to  be  deduced  from  the  principles  a  priori  of 
Kant,  but  from  the  subjectiveness  of  the  mind,  and  as  classed 
among  its  original  laws;  how  we  form,  by  means  of  these, 
analytical  judgments  or  principles,  without  the  necessity  of 
calling  in  the  aid  of  innate  ideas,  and  in  opposition  to  the 
theory  of  synthetical  judgments  a  priori  of  Kant ;  and  how 
they  may  all  be  reduced  to  two  orders  of  knowledge  or  of 
truth,  the  one  of  existence,  the  other  of  reason.  The  first 
class  presupposes  the  application  of  rational  truths  to  the  data 
of  experience;  the  second  serves  as  a  basis  for  truths  acquired 
by  induction.  He  thus  differs,  both  from  the  empirical 
school,  which  entirely  separates  reason  from  existence ;  and 
from  the  ideal,  which  draws  a  dividing  line  between  the  ideal 
and  the  sensible.     He  shows,  that,  though  all  our  judgments 

14 


158  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

are  identical,  they  serve  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  our  knowl- 
edge ;  that  by  the  application  of  the  principle  of  causality  to 
an  existence  which  is  purely  experimental,  we  obtain  the 
knowledge  of  others  that  are  real ;  that  there  are  two  species 
of  sensibility ;  the  one  internal,  perceptive  of  the  ego  and  its 
modifications ;  the  other  external  and  perceptive  of  external 
objects ;  whence  to  say,  "  I  feel,  but  do  not  feel  any  thing,"  is 
an  evident  contradiction. 

In  the  second  part,  he  attempts  to  define  the  limits  of  hu- 
man knowledge ;  showing  that  we  are  ignorant  of  the  essence 
of  things;  that  we  can  never  know  how  efficient  causes 
act ;  can  never  know  the  nature  of  the  Divinity ;  nor  how 
beings  produce  in  themselves  or  in  others  certain  given  modi- 
fications. 

The  "  Elements  of  Philosophy "  contain  the  same  princi- 
ples, though  differently  expressed.  They  are  divided  into 
Logic,  Psychology,  Ideology,  Ethics,  and  Natural  Theology. 
In  his  "  Logic"  he  first  shows,  that  every  process  of  reason- 
ing is  composed  of  judgments ;  that  these  are  either  empirical 
or  metaphysical;  the  first,  requiring  an  exact  examination 
of  particular  cases ;  the  second,  based  upon  a  comparison  of 
our  own  ideas.  Hence  a  division  of  reasoning  into  pure, 
empirical,  or  mixed ;  empirical  reasoning  being  reducible  to 
the  last  head;  and,  consequently,  a  division  of  logic,  the 
science  of  reasoning,  into  pure,  or  the  logic  of  ideas,  and 
mixed,  or  the  logic  of  facts.  But,  as  the  second  of  these 
requires  a  previous  study  of  the  manner  in  which  the  mind 
acquires  its  knowledge  of  facts,  or  in  other  words,  passes  from 
the  world  of  thought  to  the  world  of  existence,  it  can  only  be 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  159 

treated  after  metaphysics,  the  science  in  which  the  mode 
and  the  nature  of  that  passage  is  explained ;  the  first,  being 
confined  to  a  simple  comparison  of  pure  ideas,  may  be  studied 
without  the  aid  of  metaphysics.  He  then  passes  to  some 
further  observations  upon  the  nature  of  reasoning;  explains 
axioms ;  shows  that  they  are  all  founded  upon  the  principle 
of  contradiction ;  refutes  the  synthesis  d  priori  of  Kant;  treats 
of  definitions,  and  gives  the  genesis  of  universals.  He  next 
enters  into  a  full  analysis  of  the  process  of  reasoning ;  and, 
after  proving  that  it  always  consists  of  three  judgments,  and 
is  subject  to  one  general  law,  requiring  that  there  be  one 
idea  in  common  to  the  premises  and  to  the  conclusion,  and  a 
judgment  affirming  the  identity,  either  partial  or  perfect,  of 
the  other  two  ideas,  he  shows  how  a  process  of  reasoning  is 
instructive ;  1st,  inasmuch  as  it  serves  to  arrange  and  classify 
our  knowledge;  2dly,  as  it  leads  to  some  kinds  of  knowl- 
edge which  could  not  be  acquired  without  it ;  and  3dly,  that, 
although  it  be  founded  upon  the  principle  of  identity,  it  be- 
comes a  source  of  knowledge,  by  leading  to  the  discovery 
of  those  relations  between  our  ideas,  which  could  not  be 
ascertained  except  through  the  medium  of  such  a  process. 
The  last  three  chapters  are  devoted  to  an  explanation  of  the 
different  forms  of  reasoning,  and  to  a  luminous  discussion  of 
method. 

Logic,  as  he  has  treated  it,  becomes  a  stepping-stone  to 
psychology,  in  which  he  develops  at  length  his  system  of  the 
faculties  of  the  mind.  These  are  sensibility,  consciousness, 
imagination,  analysis,  synthesis,  desire,  and  will.  The  first 
three  supply  the  subjects  of  thought ;  analysis  and  synthesis 


OT  THE        ^r^ 


160 


ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 


are  the  faculties  by  means  of  which  the  mind  acts  upon  these 
subjects ;  will  stimulated  by  desire  serves  as  the  guide  and 
director  of  this  action.  Each  branch  of  these  subjects  is 
treated  with  great  clearness  and  detail ;  and  the  whole  is  inter- 
spersed with  important  practical  observations  upon  attention, 
the  association  of  ideas,  the  different  forms  of  synthesis,  mem- 
ory, and  the  acquired  habits  of  the  mind.  In  the  chapter 
upon  sleep  and  dreaming  he  proves,  in  opposition  to  Stewart, 
that  the  exercise  of  the  will  is  suspended  during  sleep.  He 
adds,  also,  some  interesting  remarks  upon  dreams  and  som- 
nambulism. In  the  last  chapter  he  subjects  to  a  rigorous 
examination  the  doctrines  of  Condillac  upon  the  intellectual 
powers. 

From  psychology  he  passes  to  ideology,  or  the  doctrine  of 
the  origin  and  generation  of  our  ideas,  analyzes  the  ideas  of 
mind,  of  body,  of  unity,  of  number,  of  a  whole,  of  identity,  of 
diversity,  of  substance,  of  accident,  of  cause,  of  effect,  of  time, 
of  space,  of  the  universe,  and  of  God ;  he  points  out  some 
leading  errors  in  the  current  systems  of  ontology,  and,  in  an 
admirable  chapter  upon  the  influence  of  words  in  the  forma- 
tion of  our  ideas,  establishes  the  principles  of  general  grammar. 

In  the  fourth  part  of  his  course  he  treats  of  mixed  logic, 
showing  first  the  reality  of  our  knowledge ;  explaining  at 
length  the  nature  of  mixed  reasoning ;  and  solving  the  princi- 
pal questions  connected  with  it  He  distinguishes  primitive 
from  secondary  experience,  and  points  out  the  foundation  of 
moral  certainty,  taking  occasion,  at  the  same  time,  to  treat 
some  of  the  most  interesting  questions  of  the  philosophy  of 
signs.     He  discourses  with  great  fulness  and  distinctness  upon 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  161 

the  origin  of  error ;  and,  after  treating  of  the  doctrines  of 
probabilities  and  hypotheses,  explains  and  discusses  the  system 
of  Kant.  A  treatise  upon  moral  philosophy,  and  one  on  natu- 
ral theology,  in  which  he  demonstrates  the  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity, conclude  the  course ;  the  whole  of  which  is  written 
with  clearness,  warmth,  and  unaffected  simplicity.  Besides  a 
full  statement  and  discussion  of  his  own  principles,  he  has 
interwoven  admirable  sketches  of  the  doctrines  of  other  phi- 
losophers, thus  treating  all  the  questions  of  philosophy  upon 
the  broadest  scale.*  The  "  Lettere  Filosofiche"  display  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  the  writings  of  the  great  philosophers  of 
modern  times.  The  work  is  perhaps,  as  far  as  it  goes,  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  philosophical  history  ever  written. 

Of  the  other  writers  of  this  class  we  have  not  space  to  speak 
in  detail.  The  most  distinguished  is  probably  Bassaldare 
Poli,  who,  besides  various  other  important  productions,  has 
added  a  supplement  to  the  manual  of  Tenneman,  in  which  he 
has  filled,  with  singular  profundity  of  research,  and  clearness 
of  exposition,  the  numerous  lacunes  of  the  German  historian. 

In  passing  to  the  school  of  empirics,  our  sketch  necessarily 
becomes  more  hasty  and  general. 

Giandomenico  Romagnosi,  who  held  during  a  long  life  the 
first  rank  among  the  thinkers  of  Italy,  and  left  behind  him  a 
school  of  enthusiastic  disciples,  was  born  in  the  village  of  Salso 
Maggiore,  on  the  night  of  the  13th  of  December,  1761.  His 
father,  having  himself  filled  with  brilliant  success  several  in> 

*  It  may  be  necessary  to  observe,  that  we  have  employed,  in  preparing 
this  hasty  analysis,  the  last  edition  of  the  elements ;  which  differs  from 
all  others  in  several  particulars,  the  most  important  of  which  is  the  addi- 
tion of  the  treatise  of  Natural  Religion. 

14* 


162  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

portant  public  situations,  resolved  to  prepare  him  from  his 
childhood  for  the  same  career.     Accordingly,  as  soon  as  he 
was  judged  capable  of  entering  upon  the  usual  routine  of  the 
schools,  he  was  put  to  his  Latin  grammar,  and,  that  he  might 
accustom  himself  betimes  to  close  application,  made  to  study 
eight  hours  a  day.     The  highest  praise  that  can  be  given  to 
the  natural  vigor  of  his  intellect  may  be  drawn  from  this  cir- 
cumstance ;  for  neither  his  mind  nor  his  spirits  were  broken 
by  this  harsh  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  science.     At  the 
age  of  fourteen,  he  was  admitted  to  the  Alberoni  college  of 
Piacenza,  where  a  fortunate  chance  threw  in  his  way  a  work, 
that  seemed  to  give  an  instantaneous  development  to  all  his 
intellectual  faculties,  and  decide  at  once  his  whole  future  ca- 
reer.    This  was  the  analytical  essay  of  Bonnet  upon  the  facul- 
ties of  the  mind.     Romagnosi  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of 
this  volume  with  all  the  fervor  of  youthful  enthusiasm.     A 
new  world  seemed  to  have  opened  upon  him.     He  read  and 
he  meditated.     He  compared  the  observations  of  his  author 
with  the  suggestions  of  his  own  experience ;  he  studied,  in 
short,  as  the  young  student  studies,  when  he  meets,  for  the 
first  time,  a  work  that  embodies  and  gives  form  and  expres- 
sion to  his  own  indefinite  but  eager  fancies.     It  would  be  long 
to  repeat  the  wonders,  that  are  told  of  his  subsequent  applica- 
tion and  progress ;  of  his  passion  for  the  natural  sciences ;  of 
his  astonishing  feats  of  memory,  and  the  still  more  astonishing 
efforts  of  reason  which  he  made,  unfil  the  publication,  at  the 
age  of  thirty,  of  his  "  Genesi  del  Diritto  Penale"  placed  him 
in  the  rank  which  he  ever  afterwards  continued  to  hold  among 
the  most  vigorous  and  exact  reasoners  of  the  age.     Neither 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  163 

shall  we  attempt  to  follow  the  vicissitudes  of  his  fortunes, 
through  all  the  various  offices  that  he  filled.  The  history  of 
his  life,  to  be  written  satisfactorily,  should  be  accompanied  by 
an  analysis  of  his  works,  in  the  order  in  which  they  were 
written ;  for  it  is  little  else  than  the  history  of  his  mind. 

For  our  immediate  purpose,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  say,  that 
his  time,  until  about  the  period  of  the  suppression  of  the  king- 
dom of  Italy,  was  divided  between  private  study  and  the  per- 
formance of  public  duties.  He  filled  chairs  at  Parma,  at 
Pavia,  and  at  Milan,  as  public  professor ;  presided  at  the  for- 
mation of  the  penal  code  for  the  kingdom  of  Italy  ;  was  called 
to  aid  the  reforms  of  government  in  several  of  the  most  inter- 
esting conjunctures ;  and  finally  closed  his  laborious  career  at 
Milan,  in  poverty  and  in  retirement,  in  the  month  of  June, 
1835.  His  death-bed  was  surrounded  by  the  children  of  his 
intellect,  his  devoted  disciples ;  and  the  last  words,  that  were 
audible  in  the  agony  of  his  death-struggle,  were,  "Smith  — 
buona  dottrina." 

The  chief  claim  of  Eomagnosi  to  a  place  among  the  great 
intellects  of  his  age,  is  founded  upon  his  merits  as  a  civil  and 
political  philosopher.  His  "  Genesi  del  Diritto  Penale,"  his 
"  Introduzione  alio  Studio  del  Diritto  Publico  Universale/' 
his  treatise  "  Dell'  Indole  e  de'  Fattori  dell'  Incivilimento," 
are  imperishable  monuments  of  the  vigor  of  his  intellect,  and 
of  the  depth  of  his  learning.  It  was  only  towards  the  close 
of  his  life  that  he  began  to  write  upon  the  philosophy  of  the 
mind,  and  his  contributions  to  this  department  of  human 
knowledge  bear  in  number  no  proportion  to  his  other  writings. 
But  the  depth  of  his  views,  the  closeness  of  his  reasoning,  the 


164  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

positive,  practical  turn  of  his  thought,  give  to  these  few  pro- 
ductions a  degree  of  importance  which  is  often  wanting  to  vol- 
umes of  far  greater  pretension. 

Melchiorre  Gioja,  who  was  born  at  Piacenza  in  1767,  and 
died  at  Milan  in  1829,  imbibed,  like  Romagnosi,  his  taste  for 
philosophy,  from  the  essay  of  Bonnet.  The  habits  of  close 
observation,  and  of  patient  thinking,  which  he  thus  acquired, 
influenced  the  composition  of  all  his  works,  and  were  at  once 
the  consequence  and  the  cause  of  his  rigid  adhesion  to  the 
experimental  method.  But,  although  he  has  written  at  length 
upon  several  branches  of  intellectual  philosophy,  it  is  mainly 
as  an  economist  that  he  claims  the  attention  of  posterity.  In 
this  department  his  merit  is  of  the  highest  order ;  and  the 
literature  of  no  nation  can  boast  a  work  so  daring  in  its  design, 
so  exact  and  so  complete  in  its  execution,  as  his  "  Prospetto 
delle  Scienze  Economiche." 

The  Cavalier  Pasquale  Borrelli,  better  known  by  the  as- 
sumed name  of  Lallebasque,  deserves  also  to  be  classed  among 
the  most  successful  of  those  who  have  engaged,  under  the 
standard  of  the  experimental  method,  in  the  boundless  field 
of  philosophical  inquiry,  and  discussion.  His  doctrines  are 
contained  in  his  "  Introduzione  alia  Filosofia  Naturale  del 
Pensiero,"  and  his  "  Principj  della  Genealogia  del  Pensiero," 
in  which  he  has  undertaken  to  trace  the  action  of  reasoning, 
and  assign  the  principles  upon  which  it  is  founded.  Another 
important  work  of  this  author  is  his  treatise  on  Etymology,  in 
which  he  reduces  the  principles  of  this  difficult  art  to  the 
clearness  and  order  of  a  science.  He  divides  languages  into 
radical  and  productive ;  seeks  the  primitive  origin  of  words 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  165 

in  the  causes  of  their  changes  and  passage  from  one  language 
to  another  (which  causes  he  reduces  to  four,  imitation,  neces- 
sity, convenience,  and  arbitrary  will) ;  and  points  out  two 
methods  for  the  investigation  of  radicals ;  one  direct,  consisting 
in  an  historical  research  of  the  people  that  held  communica- 
tion with  those  whose  language  we  propose  to  study;  the 
other  inverse,  which  consists  in  seeking,  in  the  derived  lan- 
guage itself,  a  knowledge  of  those  which  have  concurred  in  its 
formation. 

The  treatise  of  the  Count  Mamiani  della  Kovere,  entitled 
"  Del  Rinnovamento  dell'  Antica  Filosofia  Italina,"  was  com- 
posed for  one  of  the  noblest  purposes  that  can  guide  the  re- 
searches of  a  philosopher ;  that  is,  to  show  the  possibility  of 
arriving  at  positive  conclusions  in  the  science  of  mind  and 
the  consequent  certainty  of  the  foundations  on  which  our  be- 
lief and  our  dearest  hopes  repose.  He  attributes  the  preva- 
lence of  so  many  discordant  opinions  in  philosophy,  not  to  the 
science  itself,  but  to  the  methods  employed  in  the  investigation 
of  it ;  and  proposes  to  the  discussion  of  philosophers,  as  the 
first  and  most  important  problem  in  the  present  state  of  the 
science,  "  to  deduce,  from  a  profound  examination  of  the  sub- 
ject and  aim  of  philosophy,  the  special  modifications  and  proper 
uses  to  which  the  common  doctrines  of  the  natural  method 
should  be  subjected.,,  In  tracing  the  characteristic  attributes 
of  this  method,  he  shows  that  it  originated  in  Italy ;  and  that, 
consequently,  a  renewal  of  the  ancient  Italian  philosophy 
would  be  the  first  step  towards  its  establishment.  From  the 
exposition  and  history  of  this  method  he  passes  to  the  appli- 
cation of  it,  proving  first  the  reality  of  the  objects  of  human 


166  ITALIAN   LITERATURE. 

knowledge,  each  taken  by  itself;  and  their  reality  as  connected 
and  referring  one  to  another. 

The  most  distinguished  writer  of  the  school  of  rationalists 
or  idealists  is  the  Abbe  Rosmini,  author  of  the  "  Nuovo  Sag- 
gio  suir  Origine  delle  Idee."  According  to  Rosmini,  all  our 
conceptions  are  formed  by  means  of  one  universal  predicate, 
from  which  all  others  derive  their  efficacy.  This  predicate  is 
the  idea  of  being  (delV  ente)  ;  an  idea  anterior  to  any  act  of 
thought,  and  which  refers  solely  to  the  possibility  of  particular 
existences.  His  theory  is  based  upon  two  theorems;  1st. 
That  the  act  of  thought  requires  the  idea  of  existence  {deW 
essere)  ;  2d.  That  the  idea  of  being  (delV  ente)  is  not  derived 
either  from  the  senses,  or  from  consciousness,  or  from  reflec- 
tion (in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  used  by  Locke),  neither  can 
it  originate  with  the  act  of  perception ;  consequently  it  must 
be  innate.  The  first  part  of  the  essay  of  Rosmini  is  devoted 
to  a  discussion  and  examination  of  the  philosophical  theories 
that  preceded  his  own,  and  is  important  a3  a  record  of  what 
the  great  men  of  different  ages  and  different  countries  have 
thought  and  said  upon  this  interesting  science.  The  whole  is 
replete  with  new  and  striking  ideas. 

The  supernatural  school  has  likewise  found  followers  in 
Italy,  and  boasts  some  names  of  well-earned  celebrity ;  but 
thus  far  its  influence  has  been  slight,  and  the  number  of  its 
proselytes  small. 

The  history  of  the  application  of  these  methods  of  philo- 
sophical investigation  to  some  of  the  principal  questions  of  art 
and  of  science  would  furnish  materials  scarcely  less  ample 
than  those  which  we  have  compressed  into  the  pages  of  the 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  167 

present  essay.  The  theories  of  pleasure,  of  beauty,  the 
leading  questions  of  taste,  have  been  treated  with  more  or 
less  acuteness  and  profundity,  and  with  sufficient  success 
to  demonstrate  the  importance  of  these  subtle  but  ennobling 
researches.  The  science  of  history,  has  of  all  others,  been  the 
most  successful ;  and  the  country  of  Vico  has  found  among 
her  own  children  the  best  expositor  of  the  abstruse  doctrines 
of  this  Homer  of  philosophy,  and  the  minds  worthiest  of 
treading  in  the  path  which  he  had  opened.  Nor  in  the  sci- 
ence of  education,  the  most  important  of  all,  since  it  not  only 
characterizes  the  present  but  decides  for  the  future,  have 
the  principles  of  a  profound  philosophy  been  less  successfully 
applied.  Were  there  no  other  name  beside  that  of  Lam- 
bruschini,  this  alone  would  deserve  to  be  loved  and  revered 
as  far  as  the  influence  of  his  pure  and  elevated  philanthropy 
extends. 

Hasty  and  superficial  as  the  preceding  sketches  are,*  they 

*  There  are  two  omissions  in  this  essay  which  will  be  particularly 
noticed.  We  have  undertaken  to  give  a  sketch,  rapid  and  concise  it  is 
true,  but  nevertheless  a  sketch,  of  the  real  state  and  apparent  direction  of 
studies  in  Italy  during  the  first  thirty-eight  years  of  the  present  century, 
and  yet  we  have  said  nothing  of  poetry,  or  of  the  natural  sciences,  and 
have  hurried  over  the  works  of  Romagnosi,  Gioja,  and  several  others, 
from  the  analysis  of  whose  productions  a  better  idea  of  the  reach  of  the 
Italian  mind  might  be  derived  than  from  almost  any  other  source.  The 
name  of  Jannelli  is  not  even  mentioned,  and  Balbi,  one  of  the  best  geo- 
graphical and  statistical  writers  of  the  age,  is  treated  with  the  same 
neglect.  What  shall  we  say  of  the  periodical  literature  of  Italy,  of  the 
"  Corografia  Italiana,"  —  in  short,  of  all  our  omissions  !  We  can  only 
say,  that  in  our  choice,  both  of  subjects  and  of  names,  we  have  been 
guided  by  the  best  judgment  we  could  form  after  long  and  mature  re- 
flection; and  that  we  have  omitted  much  that  it  was  originally  our  inten- 
tion to  introduce,  from  the  impossibility  of  doing  justice  to  so  many 


168  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

contain,  at  least,  enough  to  prove  the  correctness  of  our 
original  position,  and  show  how  much  error  must  necessarily 
enter  into  the  judgments  of  those  who  study  nations  in  the 
deceptive  mirror  of  artificial  life.  Could  we  have  carried 
out  our  inquiries  into  every  branch  in  which  the  innate  ac- 
tivity of  Italian  intellect  has  exerted  itself;  could  we  have 
spoken  of  science  in  the  age  of  La  Grange,  of  Cagnoli,  of 
Piazzi,  of  Galvani,  of  Volta;  of  archeology,  where  the  dust  of 
Visconti  and  Sestini  is  still  warm  with  the  recent  pulsations 
of  life ;  of  poetry,  with  the  works  of  a  Monti,  a  Pindemonte, 
a  Foscolo,  a  Niccolini,  a  Manzoni  before  us;  of  that  indomita- 
ble energy  and  pure  thirst  after  knowledge,  which  supported 
a  Belzoni  and  a  Eosellini  in  their  daring  and  painful  quest 
of  the  mysteries  of  Egyptian  lore ;  of  music,  of  a  Rosini,  a 
Bellini,  a  Donizzetti;  of  art,  of  a  Canova,  a  Tennerani,  a 
Bartolini ;  what  force  and  what  evidence  might  we  not  have 
given  to  our  estimate  of  the  Italian  mind  ?  And  yet  this  is 
the  land  which  has  been  painted  as  the  home  of  bandits  and 
of  beggars ;  a  corpse,  decked  indeed  with  flowers,  and  pre- 
serving still  some  traces  of  its  former  loveliness,  but  exhaling 
from  every  pore  the  loathsome  testimonials  of  crumbling 
mortality.  How  easily  do  we  forget  what  is  due  to  the  past ! 
The  contributions  of  science,  the  embellishments  of  art,  all 
that  conduces  to  the  security  or  to  the  elegance  of  life,  is 
sought  after  and  jealously  preserved.     But,  contented  with 

names,  without  trespassing  too  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  a  single  article. 
For  the  same  reason,  we  have  avoided  citing  authorities,  and  should 
have  cut  short  our  biographical  sketches,  had  we  not  thought,  that  a 
knowledge  of  the  obstacles  against  which  a  writer  has  to  contend,  is  one 
of  the  best  guides  to  a  correct  judgment  of  his  works. 


ITALIAN   LITERATURE.  169 

the  momentary  fruition,  we  take  no  account  of  the  toils  and 
sacrifices  of  those  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  gift. 
Forgetful  of  Galyani  or  of  Volta,  the  chemist  pursues  the  daily 
application  of  their  sublime  discoveries ;  and  how  few  of  those, 
who  gaze  upon  the  pale  orb  of  Ceres,  can  tell  whose  eye  first 
detected  its  march  amid  the  glittering  train,  that  waits  upon 
its  silent  revolutions  ? 

Were  we  to  attempt  to  paint  Italy  as  we  ourselves  have 
found  it, — and  in  speaking  of  a  subject  like  this,  where  indi- 
vidual testimony  is  made  the  standard  of  judgment,  the  reader 
will  excuse  us  if  we  attempt  to  throw  our  own  experience  into 
the  scale, —  we  would  lead  the  traveller,  not  merely  through 
the  highways  and  cities  of  the  Peninsula,  but  through  its  re- 
mote districts  and  paths  seldom  trodden  by  the  stranger.  We 
would  ask  him  to  loiter  with  us  by  the  wayside,  while  we 
listened  to  the  conversation  or  replied  to  the  queries  of  the 
peasantry ;  to  seat  himself  at  their  humble  board  and  share 
their  meal  with  the  relish,  which  a  sincere  and  heartfelt  wel- 
come gives.  We  would  have  him  mingle  with  the  different 
classes  of  society  until  he  had  acquired  enough  of  their  tone  of 
thought  and  of  feeling,  to  find  his  way  into  their  more  retired 
circles,  and  see  the  examples  of  affection,  of  sincerity,  of  stern 
conscientiousness,  which  abound  there.  We  would  then  ask 
him  to  turn  with  us  to  the  dark  record,  which  contains  the  last 
four  centuries  of  Italian  history.  We  would  show  him  on  one 
side,  a  country  parcelled  out  into  petty  states,  some  of  them 
a  prey  to  domestic  oppression,  some  to  the  avidity  of  foreign 
dominion ;  the  spirit  of  liberty,  and  all  that  could  contribute 
to  its  development,  cautiously  suppressed;    local  jealousies 

15 


170  ITALIAN    LITERATURE. 

fostered,  until  that  very  division,  which  had  once  been  among 
the  greatest  stimulants  to  the  general  development  of  mind, 
had  been  converted  into  one  of  the  most  powerful  instruments 
for  its  oppression ;  and,  when  he  had  considered  well  this  state 
of  things  and  weighed  for  himself  its  influence  and  its  necessary 
consequences,  we  would  withdraw  the  veil  from  the  other  side 
of  the  picture.  He  should  there  see  art,  literature,  science, 
springing  into  life  from  the  very  bosom  of  death.  He  should 
see  mind,  circumscribed  or  cut  off  from  one  sphere  of  action, 
turning  with  irrepressible  energy  to  another;  the  brightest 
beams  of  science  irradiating  the  darkness  of  a  dungeon ;  the 
boldest  flights  of  poetry  and  of  philosophy  winged  from  a  gar- 
ret or  from  a  cottage ;  the  fondest  hopes  of  life,  and  life  itself, 
offered  up  a  willing  sacrifice  at  the  shrine  of  scientific  truth  or 
of  historical  sincerity ;  and  then  would  we  close  our  volume, 
and  leave  the  decision  to  his  own  conscience. 


MANZONI.* 


E  chi  k  questi  che  mostra  il  cammino? 

Divina  commedia. 

It  would  have  afforded  us  great  satisfaction  to  have  been 
able  to  present  to  our  readers  a  detailed  biographical  sketch 
of  the  brightest  ornament  of  historical  romance  in  Italy,  Alex- 
ander Manzoni.  Trite  as  the  observation  is,  we  cannot  help 
repeating  it,  there  is  no  introduction  to  an  author's  works  like 
a  knowledge  of  his  life  and  character.  Nothing  brings  your 
eye  so  close  to  the  written  picture  of  his  mind ;  nothing  gives 
such  force  to  his  observations,  or  explains  so  well  those  little 
traits  which  drop  from  his  pen,  almost  without  his  perceiving 
it,  the  spontaneous,  strongly-marked  expression  of  the  heart. 
Nor  is  the  converse  less  true.  Some  men  have  received 
from  nature  so  rare  a  power  of  communication,  that  to  read 
their  works  is  to  know  them.  It  is  like  listening  to  a  free 
and  familiar  conversation,  where  the  heart  pours  itself  out, 
without  restraint  and  without  reserve.     How  delightful  the 

*1.  I  Promessi  Sposi.  Storia  Milanese  del  XVII.  Secolo,  scoperta 
e  rifatta  da  Alcssandro  Manzoni.    Firenze.    3  Vol.     1829.     12mo. 

2.  Sulla  Storia  Lombarda  del  XVII.  Secolo  Ragionamenti  di  Cesare 
Cantu.    Lugano.     1833. 


172  MANZONI. 

friendship  we  thus  form  with  a  favorite  author !  How  he 
winds  himself  into  our  affections !  What  a  hold  he  gains  upon 
our  sympathies !  The  intimacy  of  daily  intercourse  could  do 
no  more.  And  there,  too,  he  always  is,  ever  unchanged, 
with  the  same  serenity  of  aspect,  the  same  cheering  tones,  and 
all  those  little  winning  ways,  that  so  often  find  access  to  the 
heart,  when  closed  to  every  other  appeal. 

We  have  never  seen  a  Life  of  Manzoni.  We  know  him 
only  through  his  works.  And  yet,  were  we  called  upon  to 
draw  a  portrait  of  him,  we  should  hardly  hesitate  to  make  the 
attempt.  We  should  paint  him  as  one  of  the  most  amiable  of 
men ;  with  sympathies  easily  awakened,  and  a  heart  to  receive 
and  preserve  their  slightest  impressions.  We  should  expect 
to  find  him  freest  and  most  expansive  in  the  midst  of  his 
friends,  or  of  his  own  domestic  circle.  We  should  there  look 
for  the  benignant  smile;  glances  beaming  with  a  love  too 
strong  to  be  repressed ;  every  now  and  then  somewhat  of  sly 
humor  lurking  around  the  eye  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth ; 
a  play  of  features  not  so  remarkable  for  its  variety,  as  for  a 
tone  of  decided  individuality,  which  we  should  suppose  it  to 
preserve  throughout  every  change.  We  should  expect  to 
hear  him  talk  in  a  mild,  firm  tone  of  voice,  flexible  to  a  certain 
point,  and  never  too  sharp  or  too  decided,  except  when  he 
approached  one  or  two  particular  topics.  Should  there  be 
any  striking  character  in  the  room,  he  would  perceive  it  at 
once,  approach  him  gradually  (we  do  not  mean  cautiously,) 
and  draw  him  out.  If  any  thing  extravagant  were  said  or 
done,  the  author  need  not  be  under  any  apprehension  of 
meeting  it  in  print ;  yet,  if  some  time  or  other  in  the  course 


MANZONI.  173 

of  his  reading,  he  should  chance  to  come  across  something 
very  like  it,  it  would  be  easy  to  guess  how  it  got  there. 
We  should  say  too,  that  he  was  a  man  to  walk  through  a 
wood,  view  a  sunset,  a  fine  landscape,  or  even  go  through 
some  sorts  of  adventures  with.  And  if  he  said  nothing  to 
you  in  your  twilight  walk,  if  he  uttered  not  a  word  while 
gazing  upon  nature  in  her  majesty,  yet  there  would  be  a 
tremulous  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  glow  upon  his  countenance, 
that  would  go  further  than  any  words  could  go,  and  make 
you  feel  that  his  heart,  like  your  own,  was  overflowing.  But 
we  must  check  our  pen.  We  have  a  long  path  before  us,  yet, 
unless  our  readers  could  turn  to  Manzoni's  volumes,  instead  of 
our  meagre  account  of  them,  hardly  enough  so  to  justify  what 
we  have  already  said. 

It  is  now  more  than  twelve  years  since  the  "Promessi 
Sposi "  was  first  published ;  and  it  is  generally  believed  that 
the  author,  in  strict  accordance  with  the  Horatian  precept, 
kept  his  manuscript  by  him  nine  full  years  before  he  ventured 
to  submit  it  to  the  public  eye.  It  came,  if  our  recollection  of 
the  first  edition  be  correct,  in  no  very  inviting  form,  with  a 
title,  of  which  it  would  be  hardly  saying  enough  to  call  it  un- 
pretending, and  with  none  of  that  parade  of  preparation  and 
anticipated  applause,  with  which  it  is  so  often  found  conven- 
ient to  usher  in  a  new  candidate  for  public  favor.  Yet,  be- 
fore six  months  were  over,  you  would  have  found  it  in  every 
corner  of  Italy,  and  in  such  a  variety  of  editions,  that,  had  the 
law  of  copyright  been  known  there,  the  author  might  easily 
have  interwoven  his  laurels  with  gold.  Nor  was  it  long  left 
in  solitary  possession  of  the  field.     First  came  the  "  Monaca 

15* 


174 


MANZONI. 


di  Monza,"  a  rib  from  the  lovers'  own  side,  to  claim  rela- 
tionship and  keep  them  in  countenance.  Others,  of  various 
forms  and  sonorous  titles  soon  followed,  each  enforcing  its 
claim  in  some  style  of  rhetoric  peculiar  to  itself;  while  our 
author,  like  the  good  vicar  of  Wakefield  with  his  poor  rela- 
tions, was  obliged  to  acknowledge  the  tie,  though  the  blind, 
the  lame,  and  the  halt  were  of  the  number.  Since  that  time, 
it  has  not  only  kept  its  ground,  but  apparently  gone  on  ex- 
tending and  confirming  its  reputation.  Rivals  have  striven 
to  supplant  it,  and  failed ;  critics  have  attacked  it,  and  been 
forgotten ;  and,  hardest  of  all,  admiring  editors  have  swelled 
it  with  notes  and  glosses  and  comments,  and  been  laughed  at 
for  their  pains.  The  author  too,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  suc- 
cess, has  locked  his  portfolio,  although  we  have  often  heard  it 
whispered,  that  there  was  still  something  in  it.  Will  it  be 
counting  too  much  upon  the  indulgence  of  our  readers,  if  we 
ask  them  to  follow  us  through  a  minute  examination  of  this 
beautiful  production  ? 

The  writer  of  an  historical  romance  voluntarily  assumes  a 
double  task  ;  and,  while  he  aims  at  giving  a  correct  picture  of 
particular  traits  of  human  character,  attempts  to  illustrate 
some  of  those  incidents  peculiar  to  different  ages,  which  are 
too  closely  connected  with  every-day  life,  to  obtain  a  separate 
place  in  history.  In  judging  works  of  this  class,  therefore,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  study  them  with  an  eye  to  this  double 
intention,  and  to  consider  their  historical  bearing  as  well  as 
their  truth  to  nature.  If  they  fail  in  either  of  these  respects, 
whatever  be  their  merit  in  one  class,  they  fall  below  the 
standard  at  which  they  professedly  aim,  and  must  be  judged 


MANZONI.  175 

accordingly.  Truth  to  nature  will  not  atone  for  historical  in- 
fidelity ;  nor  will  a  knowledge  of  the  manners  and  usages  of 
a  distant  epoch,  however  profound,  supply  the  place  of  a  clear 
perception  of  the  great  laws  of  human  character.  And  what 
shall  we  say  of  invention,  of  the  power  of  delineating  individual 
character,  of  describing  particular  incidents  and  scenes,  and  of 
binding  the  whole  together  by  a  clear,  simple,  yet  warm  and 
animated,  narrative  ? 

The  first  question,  therefore,  which  claims  our  attention  in 
the  present  inquiry,  is  purely  historical.  What  was  the  state 
of  Lombardy  in  the  seventeenth  century  ? 

Lombardy,  at  the  moment  in  which  our  story  begins, 
had  been  for  nearly  a  century  under  the  absolute  dominion  of 
the  crown  of  Spain.  Twenty-one  governors,  the  representa- 
tives of  four  sovereigns,  had  succeeded  one  another  in  the 
space  of  ninety-three  years ;  and  a  term,  which  would  hardly 
be  considered  sufficient  for  learning  the  details  of  a  common 
office,  was  the  utmost  limit  allotted  to  the  administration  of 
men,  on  whose  knowledge  and  judgment  the  fortunes  and  the 
happiness  of  thousands  depended.  Absolute  in  his  control, 
freed  by  distance  and  the  peculiar  character  of  the  Spanish 
court,  from  that  restraint,  which  the  consciousness  of  an  ulti- 
mate responsibility  might  have  imposed,  each  governor  gave 
himself  up,  without  fear  or  scruple,  to  the  pursuit  of  his  capri- 
cious pleasures,  or  the  still  more  dangerous  study  of  personal 
aggrandizement.  And,  although  the  Spanish  dominion,  both 
in  Naples  and  in  Sicily,  was  distinguished  by  corruption  and 
oppression,  by  the  arrogance,  the  cruelty  and  the  lascivious- 
ness  of  its  ministers,  the  first  rank  on  this  dark  catalogue  has 


176  MANZONI. 

been  reserved,  by  a  well  known  and  popular  saying,  to  the 
governors  of  the  Milanese. 

"Worthy  companions  and  instruments  of  such  rulers,  the 
Milanese  nobles  seem  to  have  joined  them  heart  and  hand,  in 
their  task  of  oppression,  and  to  have  sought,  in  the  privileges 
and  immunities  of  their  order,  a  compensation  for  the  loss  of 
the  higher  privileges  which  they  had  once  possessed  as  citi- 
zens. Surrounded  on  all  occasions  by  a  band  of  desperate 
ruffians,  armed  both  in  public  and  in  private,  raised  above  the 
laws,  either  by  family  interest  or  by  personal  power,  they 
pursued  whatever  chanced  to  be  the  fancy  of  the  moment, 
without  hesitation  and  without  remorse.  To  accomplish  a 
difficult  enterprise  in  open  opposition  to  the  laws ;  to  inflict 
immediate  and  signal  punishment  upon  every  one  that  hesitated 
to  comply  with  their  demands;  to  be  distinguished  by  superior 
audacity  and  a  more  relentless  cruelty,  from  the  common  mass 
of  crime  with  which  they  were  surrounded,  was  their  highest 
ambition,  and  the  aim  of  their  lives.  And,  were  it  possible 
to  adopt  the  theory  of  the  great  Italian  dramatist,  the  same 
qualifications,  which  had  enabled  the  founders  of  those  names, 
on  which  they  prided  themselves,  to  win  for  them  so  brilliant 
and  so  durable  a  glory,  contributed  to  fit  the  men  who  then  bore 
them,  for  succeeding,  to  the  utmost  extent  of  their  wishes,  in 
the  career  of  crime  and  pollution  which  they  had  chosen. 

No  one  who  knows  what  human  nature  is,  will  expect  to 
find  the  clergy  exempt  from  this  deep-rooted  and  universal 
corruption.  Religious  power,  like  all  other  forms  of  power, 
has  ever  been  made  the  instrument  of  vice,  where  vice  has 
prevailed ;  and  the  men  who,  on  some  occasions,  would  push 


MANZONI.  177 

on  their  enterprises  by  industry  or  by  force,  will  not  hesitate 
to  resort,  on  others,  to  the  more  stealthy  but  equally  efficient 
aid  of  the  cassock  and  the  cowl.  But  corruption  in  the  church 
is  of  a  far  more  extensive  and  dangerous  import  than  in  a 
merely  civil  community.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  clergy  to  in- 
struct, to  console,  and  to  defend.  They  speak  to  us  in  the 
language  of  the  Deity ;  and  how  large  is  that  portion  of  every 
nation  to  which  the  promises  and  the  precepts  of  religion 
never  penetrate,  except  through  the  mouths  of  their  religious 
teachers.  They  have  voluntarily  assumed,  in  the  name  of  the 
Being  whose  laws  they  interpret,  a  burthen,  which  nothing 
but  a  firm  reliance  on  him,  and  a  constant  recurrence  to  his 
aid,  can  give  them  strength  to  bear.  Like  their  divine  Mas- 
ter in  his  mission  upon  earth,  they  interpose  between  the 
sinner  and  the  ruin  to  which  he  is  hastening,  between  the  op- 
pressed and  the  oppressor,  the  wretched  and  their  wretched- 
ness ;  they  have  a  consolation  for  every  sorrow,  and  a  balm  for 
every  wound. 

But  the  existence  of  the  clergy  as  an  independent  body  will 
always  be  attended  with  serious  disadvantages.  The  peculiar 
facilities  which  they  enjoy  for  acquiring  a  strong  influence 
over  the  minds  of  their  disciples ;  the  position  which  they 
occupy  as  intermediary  between  the  delinquent  and  the  only 
Being  by  whom  his  delinquency  can  be  pardoned  or  punished ; 
the  habit,  which,  from  childhood  upward,  is  formed  of  relying 
upon  them  for  instruction,  consolation,  aid ;  offer  facilities  for 
the  abuse  of  power,  which  have  sometimes  been  found  too 
tempting  even  for  the  strongest  minds.  Add  to  these,  privi- 
leges and  exemptions ;  raise  the  men,  already  possessed  of 


178  MANZONI. 

this  fearful  weapon  of  mystery  and  faith,  high  above  their 
fellows  by  temporal  rights  and  the  dazzling  prosperity  of  this 
world  ;  knit  them  together  in  a  strong  bond  of  alliance,  where 
common  interests,  common  dangers,  and  common  pursuits 
concur  to  draw  the  tie  closer,  the  greater  the  strength  with 
which  it  is  assailed ;  and  you  put  them  to  a  test  too  severe 
for  merely  human  strength. 

Hence  in  times  of  general  oppression,  when  law  is  too  fee- 
ble to  protect  the  lower  classes,  or  its  ministers  too  corrupt  to 
enforce  its  injunctions ;  when  no  one  can  place  sufficient  reli- 
ance upon  his  personal  rights,  or  his  individual  power,  to 
separate  himself  from  the  class  in  which  he  was  born,  unless 
he  can  secure  the  support  of  some  order,  which  privilege  or 
power  has  raised  above  the  common  level ;  the  church,  like 
every  other  privileged  institution,  will  be  filled  by  thousands, 
that  resort  to  it  for  protection,  and  swell  its  ranks  with  a  de- 
voted multitude  of  retainers.  It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to 
say  what  would  be  the  character  of  a  clergy  thus  constituted. 
Yet  such  was  the  clergy  of  the  epoch  which  Manzoni  has  un- 
dertaken to  illustrate. 

Fortunately  for  the  poor,  for  the  oppressed,  for  religion 
herself,  two  men  were  called,  within  a  few  years  of  each  other, 
to  the  archiepiscopal  chair  of  Milan,  who  seem  to  have  been 
expressly  sent,  in  that  period  of  suffering  and  pollution,  to 
confirm  the  wavering,  and  recall  the  wanderer  by  the  visible 
presence  of  pure  Christian  virtue.  These  were  Charles  and 
Frederic  Borromeo.  The  former  has  been  raised  by  the 
Catholic  Church  to  the  rank  assigned  to  those,  whose  virtues 
are  deemed  of  too  pure  and  elevated  a  cast,  not  to  be  the  im- 


MANZONI.  179 

mediate  and  special  inspiration  of  the  Deity.     Frederic  was 
already  twenty  when  his  uncle  died.     During  that  important 
period,  which  so  often  irrevocably  decides  the  character  of  a 
whole  life,  he  had  been  within  the  influence  of  the  exalted 
qualities  of  his  kidsman.     To  imitate  these  was  the  study  of 
his  life.     Their  revered  example  was  his  guide  in  doubt,  his 
support  in  trouble,  his  consolation  in  sadness  and  in  sorrow, 
and  the  first  question  that  he  asked  himself,  upon  any  new  or 
trying  emergency,  was,  What  would  St.  Charles  have  done  in 
such  a  situation  ?     By  a  rare  but  all-important  combination, 
his  intellectual  qualifications  were  hardly  inferior  to  those  of 
his  heart.     An  indefatigable  student  from  his  earliest  years, 
the  absorbing  duties  of  his  station  never  prevented  him  from 
devoting  some  hours  of  each  day  to  composition  and  reading ; 
and  the  catalogue  of  the  works  which  he  dictated,  or  wrote 
with  his  own  hand,  while  conscientiously  engaged  in  functions, 
which  of  themselves  would  be  too  great  a  burthen  for  a  common 
mind,  would  be  thought  astonishing  even  for  a  professed  author. 
He  founded  the  Ambrosian  Library  of  Milan ;  he  revived  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts  ;  he  extended  his  patronage  to  every 
branch  of  intellectual  culture,  and  with  a  judiciousness  and 
earnestness  of  purpose,  equal  to  the  zeal  which  he  displayed 
in  the  more  immediate  duties  of  his  calling.     Like  his  uncle, 
he  waged  a  constant  warfare  with  the  vices  of  his  age  and  of 
his  order ;  and,  if  some  few  escaped  the  general  contamination, 
and  the  wretched  and  the  lowly  were  not  always  without  a 
refuge,  it  is  to  Charles  and  Frederic  that  the  praise  belongs. 
Next  to  the  privileged  body,  come  the  ministers  of  their 
crimes,  the  extensive  and  terrible  race  of  bravoes.     Daring, 


180  MANZONI. 

unscrupulous,  incapable  of  remorse  or  of  attachment,  yet 
preserving,  even  in  the  depth  of  their  moral  debasement,  a 
certain  pride  of  profession,  they  formed  a  band  of  determined 
and  obedient  retainers,  on  whom  their  master  could  rely  for 
the  accomplishment  of  every  wish.  The  menaces  of  govern- 
ment were  of  no  avail  against  them ;  they  walked  abroad  in 
open  day,  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  ministers  of  justice ; 
and  the.  rewards,  which  were  offered  for  their  lives  or  their 
capture,  seem  to  have  added  to  their  audacity,  by  multiplying 
the  proofs  of  the  terror  which  they  inspired. 

The  laws  and  privileges  of  this  period  were  worthy  of  the 
men  for  whom  they  were  designed.  The  right  of  asylum, 
which  forms  so  singular  a  feature  in  the  history  of  modern 
Europe,  was  still  preserved  in  full  vigor ;  nor  will  any  com- 
ment of  ours  be  required  to  show  what  influence  it  must  have 
exercised  upon  such  a  state  of  society  as  that  which  we  have 
attempted  to  sketch. 

Agriculture  and  commerce  were  trammelled  with  protec- 
tions and  checks,  planned  with  so  minute  a  specification  of 
detail,  that  there  was  hardly  a  stage  in  the  progress  of  any 
natural  production,  from  the  moment  when  the  seed  was  first 
laid  in  the  ground,  till  the  harvest  was  consigned  to  the  vend- 
er, for  which  there  is  not  some  especial  provision.  Nor  is 
the  exactness  of  the  criminal  code  less  striking.  It  is  hardly 
an  extravagance  to  say,  that  not  a  year  passed  without  some 
new  device  for  the  suppression  of  crime,  or  some  new  form 
of  reward  or  of  punishment,  for  alluring  the  penitent  or  for 
terrifying  the  guilty.  The  decrees  against  the  bravoes  alone 
would  fill  a  volume.     And  lest  ordinary  means  should  prove 


MANZONI.  181 

insufficient,  the  torture  in  all  its  various  forms  was  applied 
upon  the  slightest  suspicion.  The  cord,  the  most  common 
form  of  torture,  was  frequently  held  in  readiness  in  the  public 
squares,  and  at  the  corners  of  the  principal  streets.  But  with 
a  church,  a  convent,  or  the  palace  of  a  noble  within  his  reach, 
who  would  fear  the  impotent  threats  of  a  careless  and  timid 
legislator  ? 

The  natural  fertility  of  the  Milanese  territory,  and  the  in- 
dustry of  its  inhabitants,  were  but  an  inadequate  resource 
against  such  complicated  abuses.  The  manufactories,  which, 
from  the  times  of  the  Lombard  republics,  had  supplied  the 
materials  of  an  active  foreign  commerce,  were  suffered  to  fall 
to  decay ;  the  artisans,  by  whose  skill  and  industry  they  had 
flourished,  were  driven  for  support  to  foreign  states ;  and  the 
territory  was  gradually,  we  had  almost  said  systematically,, 
drained  of  its  wealth  and  of  its  inhabitants.  In  eight  years, 
from  1616  to  1624,  the  city  of  Milan  alone  lost  twenty-four 
thousand  workmen,  and  seventy  manufactories  of  cloth  were 
reduced  to  fifteen.  When  the  Spanish  government  first  took 
possession  of  the  Milanese,  they  found  in  the  capital  a  popula- 
tion of  three  hundred  thousand  souls.  They  left  one  hundred 
thousand.  They  found  seventy  manufactories  of  woollens; 
they  left  five.  Add  to  facts  like  these,  the  plague,  which  raged 
with  a  violence,  of  which  it  is  difficult,  even  with  the  recent 
ravages  of  the  cholera  fresh  in  our  memories,  to  form  an  ade- 
quate conception;  and  famine,  in  her  most  revolting  form, 
extending  from  the  cottage  of  the  husbandman  to  the  palace  of 
the  noble,  and  filling  the  streets  and  the  highways  with  the 
dying  and  the  dead. 

16 


182  MANZONI. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  the  period  which  Manzoni  has  chosen 
for  the  scene  of  his  narrative.  Leaving  to  the  historian  the 
exposition  of  those  general  facts,  which  are  more  peculiarly 
his  province,  he  has  endeavored  to  carry  his  readers  back  to 
the  daily  life,  the  private  interests  and  private  sorrows,  which 
are  so  often  the  consequence  of  those  facts.  A  profound  study 
of  contemporary  authorities  has  enabled  him  to  enter  fully 
into  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  give  to  every  scene  and  char- 
acter its  appropriate  coloring.  The  public  incidents  of  which 
he  has  availed  himself  possess  a  decided  interest  for  the  stu- 
dent of  Italian  history.  A  famine,  the  real  causes  of  which 
must  be  sought  in  the  ill-devised  economical  laws  of  the 
Spanish  rulers,  and  in  the  oppression  and  outrages  of  the 
Spanish  garrisons ;  a  plague,  which,  even  in  that  age,  was 
remarkable  for  its  extent  and  its  duration ;  and  the  passage  of 
the  imperial  troops  to  the  siege  of  Mantua,  which  was  attend- 
ed with  scenes  of  havoc  and  wanton  cruelty,  such  as  even  the 
ravages  of  a  hostile  army  could  not  have  exceeded ;  —  these 
events  give  rise  to  scenes  and  incidents  of  the  highest  interest, 
where  the  heroes  of  the  romance,  by  a  simple  and  perfectly 
natural  action,  are  made  to  paint  in  the  strongest  colors  the 
character  of  their  age. 

Three  of  these  are  borrowed  from  history.  Frederic  Bor- 
romeo  is  drawn  from  life.  His  habits,  his  virtues,  his  aims, 
even  the  tone  of  his  conversation,  are.  such  as  the  most  rigid 
research  would  justify.  If  our  author  has  not  interwoven 
the  weaknesses  of  this  great  mind  with  the  exquisite  picture 
that  he  has  drawn  of  its  higher  qualities,  he  has  not  denied 
their  existence,  and  the  occasion  called  for  nothing  more. 


MANZONI.  183 

The  introduction  of  Frederic  gives  a  peculiar  moral  beauty 
to  the  whole  work.  It  is  in  the  course  of  a  pastoral  visit  that 
he  first  comes  before  us,  and  with  that  rare  union  of  mildness 
and  resolution,  that  bland  dignity,  those  gentle  reproofs,  those 
ardent  exhortations,  that  expansiveness  of  heart  which  em- 
braces with  equal  readiness  the  highest  and  the  lowest  inter- 
ests ;  that  rare  combination,  in  short,  which  commands  univer- 
sal love  and  admiration,  since  there  is  hardly  a  human  being 
but  finds  in  it  some  quality  that  he  particularly  admires.  He 
enters  so  promptly  into  the  cause  of  the  humble  heroine  of  our 
tale,  and  does  it  with  so  much  delicacy,  so  much  good  sense, 
and  withal  so  naturally,  that  he  has  at  once  a  complete  hold  of 
the  reader's  heart. 

No  less  remarkable  is  the  second  historical  character ;  but 
he  is  a  being  of  a  very  different  class.  Those  of  our  readers, 
who  are  familiar  with  the  local  history  of  that  period,  will  re- 
member in  the  general  picture  of  crimes  one  individual,  who 
stands  distinguished  by  guilt  and  daring  of  a  peculiar  order. 
His  name  is  not  known,  but  Cantu,  in  his  admirable  disserta- 
tions upon  this  portion  of  Lombard  history,  gives  strong  rea- 
sons for  supposing  him  to  have  been  a  Visconti.  He  seems 
to  have  possessed  a  vigorous  mind ;  an  intrepidity  of  charac- 
ter, which  set  every  form  of  danger  at  defiance ;  a  firmness 
of  purpose,  which  neither  pity  nor  opposition  could  move ; 
and  a  restless  ambition  of  preeminence,  which  a  few  centuries 
earlier  would  have  exalted  him  into  a  hero ;  but  which,  in 
the  age  and  country  in  which  he  was  cast,  left  him  little  more 
than  the  part  of  an  outlaw  and  a  ruffian.  His  residence,  for 
many  years,  was  a  castle  on  the  Venetian  frontiers,  in  a  spot 


184  MANZONI. 

which  Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  formed  for  the  haunt 
of  a  bandit.  This  he  had  fortified  with  care,  and  garrisoned 
with  a  band  of  the  boldest  bravoes.  Guards  were  stationed 
at  every  avenue.  Not  a  member  of  his  vast  household  but 
was  inured  to  crime.  And  even  at  the  present  day  it  will 
hardly  be  considered  strange,  that  few  were  willing  to  hazard 
their  lives  against  men  whose  native  ferocity  was  thus  sup- 
ported by  the  vigilance  of  military  discipline.  The  exercise 
of  his  power  was  not  confined  to  the  lower  classes;  the 
wealthiest  nobles  were  equally  under  his  control;  nor  was 
there  any  one  so  strong  as  not  to  find  himself,  sooner  or  later, 
constrained  to  court  the  alliance  of  this  master  spirit.  At 
length,  after  years  spent  in  outrages  upon  society,  he,  of  his 
own  aecord,  suddenly  sought  an  interview  with  Frederic  Bor- 
romeo,  changed  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  and  devoted  the 
remainder  of  his  days  to  a  rigorous  atonement  for  the  vices  of 
his  youth. 

There  are  two  other  characters,  drawn  from  the  minuter 
history  of  the  age ;  a  nun  of  a  noble  family,  whom  domestic 
tyranny  had  forced  into  a  convent,  and  her  lover,  a  hardened 
villain,  the  worthy  accomplice  of  the  Innominato.  Others  are 
incidentally  introduced,  but  the  part  which  they  perform  is  too 
slightly  connected  with  the  general  story  to  call  for  a  particular 
description. 

The  rest  are  purely  of  invention.  -  In  these,  accordingly, 
we  have  a  right  to  require  a  fuller  expression  of  the  author's 
feelings,  and  a  more  delicate  test  of  his  knowledge  of  the  age 
which  he  has  undertaken  to  illustrate. 

We  speak  first  of  Padre  Cristoforo,  not  merely  because  he 


MANZONI.  185 

has  so  much  to  do  with  the  narrative,  but  because  he  has  im- 
perceptibly come  to  be  a  standard  in  our  mind  for  monastic 
virtue.  The  old  man  first  meets  us  in  a  moment  of  perplex- 
ity and  sorrow ;  one  of  those  moments,  in  which  the  heart 
would  break,  if  left  to  itself;  and  yet  precisely  those,  when 
we  feel  how  hard  it  is  to  find  one  that  will  lend  a  willing  ear 
to  our  complaints,  and  repay  the  outpouring  of  grief  with 
words  of  commiseration  and  of  hope.  He  is  hurrying  along 
the  road  from  his  convent  to  a  little  mountain  village,  where 
the  inmates  of  an  humble  cottage  await  his  coming  as  the 
condemned  awaits  his  reprieve.  The  coarse  garb  of  his  order 
is  not  unsuited  to  his  venerable  form ;  for  the  severity  of  the 
folds,  and  the  heaviness  with  which  it  falls  in  straight,  unwa- 
vering lines,  correspond  with  the  gravity,  the  almost  sternness, 
of  his  aspect.  His  silver  beard  waves  upon  his  breast  in  the 
fulness  of  unshorn  majesty;  and  the  cowl,  that  has  fallen 
backward,  brings  out,  in  clearer  proportion,  the  noble  lines  of 
his  head.  There  is  but  little  hair  left  there ;  yet  age  would 
account  for  that ;  but  will  age  alone  tell  the  secrets  of  that  fur- 
rowed brow,  and  the  flitting  play  of  the  mouth  and  the  eye  ? 
There  is  something  written  there  in  deeper  characters,  than 
age,  with  all  its  sorrows,  could  form ;  some  absorbing  thought, 
that  for  years  and  years  has  been  setting  deeper  and  stronger 
its  indelible  seal.  We  must  go  back  to  his  early  life,  if  we 
would  know  all  the  secrets  of  that  brow. 

He  was  born  to  affluence,  but  not  to  nobility.  In  his  edu- 
cation the  same  disparity  prevailed.  He  was  taught  all  the 
accomplishments  of  a  gentleman ;  but  the  taint  in  his  blood 
separated  him  from  those,  who  by  similitude  of  cultivation 

16* 


186 


MANZONI. 


and  of  taste,  should  naturally  have  been  his  companions.  Yet 
perhaps  his  heart  would  have  kept  him  from  them,  if  his  rank 
had  not ;  for  his  was  gentle  and  affectionate,  and  ill  fitted  to 
share  in  the  acts  of  outrage  and  cruelty  which  were  their  daily 
occupation.  It  was  natural,  that,  from  pitying  the  oppressed, 
he  should  soon  become  their  protector ;  for  what  noble  heart 
can  content  itself  with  barren  expressions  of  commiseration  ? 
But  oppression  can  only  be  resisted  by  power ;  and  thus  he 
was  gradually  led  on,  from  scene  to  scene  of  violence,  and 
forced,  by  his  love  of  justice  and  of  virtue,  to  associate  with 
the  men  whom  he  most  abhorred,  and  mingle  in  the  scenes 
most  revolting  to  his  nature.  "Wearied,  heart-sick  with  such 
a  life,  he  began  to  look  with  longing  eyes  toward  the  calm  of 
the  convent.  Compunctions,  suddenly  excited  by  one  terrible 
incident,  decided  at  once  and  irrevocably  his  wavering  mind. 
One  day,  while  returning  from  his  usual  walk,  he  chanced  to 
meet  a  nobleman,  well  known  for  his  haughty  and  tyrannical 
character.  A  dispute  arose ;  angry  words  were  exchanged ; 
they  soon  came  to  blows ;  a  servant  of  Cristoforo,  in  parrying 
a  thrust  aimed  at  his  master,  fell  dead  at  his  feet ;  but  Cristo- 
foro, at  the  same  instant,  planted  his  own  sword  in  the  breast 
of  his  antagonist.  A  convent  of  Capuchins  was  at  hand ;  the 
crowd  urged,  forced  him  to  its  gate ;  and  there,  in  the  silence 
of  his  inviolable  asylum,  he  found  leisure  to  mature  the 
thought,  which,  half  formed  and  indistinct,  had  so  often  flitted 
through  his  mind.  He  assumed  the  robe  of  the  order.  His 
first  act  was  to  humble  himself  to  the  kinsmen  of  his  adversary, 
kneeling  to  the  brother  of  the  deceased  in  his  crowded  hall, 
and  asking  his  pardon  for  the  blood  that  he  had  shed;  the  next, 


MANZONI. 


187 


to  devote  the  remainder  of  his  days  to  the  atonement  of  his 
crime,  and  to  the  aid  and  consolation  of  the  wretched.  And 
this  he  does,  with  a  courage  so  pure,  so  earnest  a  zeal,  such 
an  abundance  of  charity  and  of  love,  and  yet  with  so  much 
humility,  and  such  deep-rooted  and  constant  compunction,  that, 
be  your  creed  what  it  may,  you  can  hardly  give  him  any  other 
name  than  that  of  saint. 

Don  Rodrigo  and  his  cousin  Attilio,  although  the  parts  they 
perform  are  not  of  equal  importance,  may,  without  any  viola- 
tion of  propriety,  be  classed  together.  They  are  cast  in  the 
same  mould,  worthy  representatives  of  that  nobility  to  which 
they  belong.  Yet,  however  insignificant  in  themselves,  as  far 
as  our  author  is  concerned,  they  are  drawn  with  great  truth 
and  vivacity. 

But  how  shall  we  describe  Don  Abbondio,  the  poor  old 
parish  priest,  who  had  trembled  on  thus  far  through  life,  and 
asked  no  higher  blessing  than  to  be  allowed  to  tremble  on 
through  the  rest  of  his  days ;  with  the  proviso,  however,  that 
there  should  be  as  many  of  them  and  as  long  as  possible  ? 
The  poor  man  had  taken  orders,  for  by  so  doing  he  had  united 
himself  to  a  class,  redoubtable  both  for  its  numbers  and  for  its 
immunities.  He  endeavored  also  to  perform  his  duty,  as  far 
as  his  fears  would  allow  him ;  but  with  that  regard  to  personal 
safety  which  was  ever  his  presiding  care.  He  is  a  perfect 
exemplification  of  the  selfishness  of  fear ;  of  its  tendency  to 
concentrate  every  thought,  every  feeling,  upon  our  personal 
convenience;  to  lose  sight  of  duty,  and  suppress  all  the  nobler 
sympathies  and  tendencies  of  our  nature  in  presence  of  this 
debasing  thought.    He  serves  as  a  foil  for  Frederic  and  Padre 


188  MANZONI. 

Cristoforo,  whose  virtues  seem,  if  possible,  to  borrow  a  new 
lustre  from  the  contrast. 

In  the  three  remaining  characters,  our  author  seems  to  have 
proposed  nothing  more  than  a  faithful  picture  of  human  nature 
under  the  influence  of  peculiar  circumstances.  Agnes,  the 
mother  of  the  betrothed,  is  a  kind-hearted,  good-natured  coun- 
try-woman, industrious  from  habit,  and  pious  from  the  united 
influence  of  habit  and  conviction.  She  neither  says  nor  does 
any  thing  remarkable ;  yet  her  part  is  an  important  one,  and 
it  would  be  difficult  to  make  a  person  of  her  class  speak  or  act 
with  more  propriety  and  truth  to  nature. 

Lucia,  her  daughter,  the  heroine  of  the  narrative,  is  some- 
what more  idealized.  Not  that  any  of  the  qualities  assigned 
to  her  are  such  as  we  should  not  expect  to  find  in  one  of 
her  station,  but  there  is  a  certain  delicacy  of  coloring,  and  a 
softening  down  of  the  features,  which,  without  falsifying  the 
likeness,  give  it  to  you  in  its  most  favorable  and  intellectual 
form.  It  is  like  a  bust  modelled  in  the  style  of  the  ancients, 
broad,  full  of  feeling  for  all  that  gives  character  to  the  face, 
but  with  a  total  disregard  of  those  accidental  details,  which 
have  nothing  to  do  with  real  expression.  Lucia  is  made 
beautiful  as  a  matter  of  course,  for  who  would  think  of  paint- 
ing a  bride  and  a  heroine  in  any  other  way  ?  But  it  is  a 
beauty  peculiar  to  her  class,  and  one  which  such  of  our  read- 
ers, as  have  turned  aside  from  the  post-roads  of  Italy,  to 
wander  through  the  secluded  mountain  districts,  can  easily 
form  an  idea  of.  In  her  mind  you  perceive  at  once  the 
forming  hand  of  Padre  Cristoforo ;  a  certain  degree  of  culti- 
vation; a  ready  apprehension  of  duty;  a  piety,  pure,  un- 


MANZONI.  189 

doubting,  refined;  even  elevated,  if  unwavering  conviction 
and  an  intuitive  abhorrence  of  wrong  can  constitute  moral 
elevation ;  that  piety,  in  short,  which  belongs  to  a  warm  and 
innocent  heart. 

In  Renzo  there  is  nothing  ideal.  He  is  a  country  artisan 
in  the  costume  of  the  seventeenth  century,  frank  and  bold ; 
thanks,  too,  to  Padre  Cristoforo,  sincere  and  virtuous-minded ; 
yet  hasty,  and  full  as  ready  to  look  for  protection  to  his  own 
hand,  as  to  that  of  the  law.  Like  some  few,  whom  we  have 
actually  met  with  in  life,  he  improves  upon  acquaintance ;  you 
like  him  better  the  more  you  know  of  him. 

Such  are  the  simple  materials  from  which  Manzoni  has 
drawn  one  of  the  most  striking  pictures,  that  was  ever 
drawn,  of  the  manners  and  the  customs  of  a  distant  age.  All 
the  leading  characteristics  of  the  individual,  of  the  degree  of 
civilization  to  which  he  has  attained,  and  of  the  extent  to 
which  that  civilization  has  been  diffused,  are  brought  into 
play;  and  each  receives  a  development  proportioned  to  its 
real  importance.  No  historian  has  ever  painted  with  more 
truth  the  influence  of  circumstances  upon  character,  or  the 
vigorous  vitality  with  which  the  Deity  has  endowed  those 
principles,  which  he  designed  for  the  guide  and  the  solace 
of  mankind.  The  sublime  piety  of  Frederic  is  beautifully 
contrasted  with  the  timid  morality  of  Don  Abbondio.  The 
devoted  charity  of  Fra  Cristoforo  is  set  in  bold  relief  by  the 
temporizing  policy  of  the  superior  of  his  order,  at  the  table 
and  in  the  closet  of  the  privy  counsellor.  And  while  our 
author  thus  withdraws  the  veil  from  the  corruptions  of  the 
clergy,  who  does  not  feel  his  confidence  increased  in  the  ex- 


190  MANZONI. 

alted  picture  which  he  has  given  of  what  they  might  and  ought 
to  be  ?  The  Innominato  and  Rodrigo,  with  their  ruffian  re- 
tainers, the  remorseless  license  of  their  lives,  and  the  lowness 
of  the  objects  for  which  they  willingly  encountered  so  much 
obloquy  and  guilt,  form  the  best  illustration  of  the  aims  and 
character  of  the  corrupt  nobility  whom  they  represent.  And 
from  the  persecution  and  sufferings  of  Renzo  and  Lucia,  the 
desolation  of  the  famine,  the  terror  produced  by  the  passage 
of  the  German  troops  and  the  ravages  of  the  plague,  results  a 
picture  of  the  miseries,  the  trials,  the  peculiar  characteristics 
of  the  age,  which  surpasses  the  highest  coloring  of  the  most 
eloquent  historian. 

The  story  by  which  these  personages  and  incidents  are 
bound  together  is  a  very  simple  one.  Renzo  and  Lucia  are 
upon  the  eve  of  being  married.  Don  Rodrigo,  the  feudal 
lord  of  the  district,  has  met  Lucia  a  few  weeks  before,  on  her 
return  from  her  work,  and  conceived  for  her  a  passion  which 
he  is  resolved  to  gratify  at  every  hazard.  Accordingly,  the 
evening  before  the  marriage  was  to  take  place,  two  of  his 
bravoes  are  sent  to  waylay  Don  Abbondio,  and  forbid  him,  in 
the  name  of  their  master,  and  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  to  per- 
form the  ceremony.  He  promises  compliance  and  secrecy. 
But  the  bridegroom,  who  comes  early  next  morning  to  fix  the 
hour  for  the  completion  of  his  happiness,  soon  finds  the  way 
of  extracting  from  the  frightened  curate  his  terrible  secret ; 
and  the  poor  old  man,  after  two  such  scenes,  and  with  still 
more  dismal  forebodings  for  the  future,  shuts  up  his  house  and 
goes  to  bed  with  a  fever.  The  desolation  of  the  betrothed 
may  be  easily  imagined,  and  it  is  then  that  Renzo  and  Agnese 


MANZONI.  191 

hear  for  the  first  time  of  the  odious  persecutions  to  which 
poor  Lucia  has  been  exposed.  Agnese,  with  the  confidence 
which  people  in  trouble  are  apt  to  feel  in  the  learned  in  the 
law,  sends  Renzo  a  couple  of  miles  across  the  country,  to  ask 
the  advice  of  Doctor  Azzecca-garbugli,  who,  it  would  seem, 
had  a  high  reputation  for  holding  the  clue  to  all  sorts  of  in- 
trigues. As  a  recommendation  to  the  Doctor,  he  takes  with 
him  the  two  well-fattened  capons  that  were  to  have  decked 
the  wedding  board.  But  what  is  his  surprise,  after  having 
heard  from  the  lips  of  the  complaisant  man  of  law  full  half  a 
dozen  acts  and  edicts,  which  seemed  to  have  been  made  on 
purpose  for  his  case,  to  find  himself  thrust  away  by  the 
shoulders  the  moment  he  lets  out  that  he  is  not  the  criminal, 
but  the  victim,  and  that  the  author  of  the  outrage  is  Don  Rod- 
rigo.  Disconsolate,  bewildered,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do, 
he  retraces  his  steps  towards  the  cottage  of  his  promised  bride. 
He  there  finds  a  more  faithful  counsellor,  Padre  Cristoforo. 
The  old  man  resolves  at  once  to  beard  Rodrigo  in  his  den, 
and  if  he  cannot  arouse  either  his  fears  or  his  conscience,  to 
ascertain  at  least  how  far  he  is  resolved  to  carry  his  brutal 
design.  The  scenes  that  follow,  the  dinner-table  of  Rodrigo, 
the  interview  of  the  tyrant  and  the  friar,  the  hurried  and 
almost  penitential  warning  of  the  old  family  servant,  are  exe- 
cuted with  a  masterly  hand.  But  the  result  is  as  might  have 
been  expected ;  and  all  that  Cristoforo  obtains  is  a  secret  ally 
in  the  old  butler. 

In  the  mean  time,  poor  Lucia  has  been  prevailed  upon,  by 
the  entreaties  of  her  mother  and  the  desperation  of  Renzo,  to 
consent  to  attempt  a  forced  marriage ;  for,  by  the  laws  of  that 


192  MANZONI. 

period,  if  they  could  only  succeed  in  declaring  themselves 
husband  and  wife  before  the  curate  and  in  presence  of  wit- 
nesses, the  ceremony  was  in  every  respect  legal  and  binding. 
The  trial  was  made  the  next  evening.  Two  friends  of  Renzo 
accompany  him  as  witnesses,  and  Agnese  undertakes  to  hold 
at  bay  the  curate's  talkative  attendant,  Perpetua.  But  this 
time  his  very  fears  come  to  the  aid  of  Don  Abbondio,  and  give 
him  an  unusual  alertness  in  warding  off  the  blow.  Just  as 
Lucia  is  in  the  act  of  uttering  the  fatal  words,  he  throws  down 
the  light,  casts  the  baize  covering  of  his  table  upon  her  head, 
and,  in  the  confusion  that  ensues,  makes  good  his  retreat  to  an 
adjoining  room.  Here  he  begins  to  cry  lustily  for  help.  The 
sexton,  aroused  at  his  call,  sounds  the  alarm  from  his  steeple, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  village  comes  pouring  in  upon  the 
green  plot  in  front  of  the  church.  Our  adventurers  have  barely 
time  to  save  themselves  by  a  back  path.  Here  they  meet  a 
messenger  from  Cristoforo.  They  have  failed  in  their  attempt 
upon  the  curate,  but  have  escaped  a  danger  far  more  terrible 
than  any  that  had  till  now  threatened  them. 

Don  Rodrigo,  stung  by  the  reproaches  of  the  friar,  and  the 
taunts  of  his  cousin  Attilio,  had  resolved  to  resort  to  a  meas- 
ure for  obtaining  possession  of  Lucia,  which  even  to  his  eyes 
seemed  hazardous.  He  forms  his  plan  in  concert  with  his 
trusty  Griso ;  sets  his  bravoes  at  work ;  and  awaits  the  issue 
with  a  mixture  of  exultation  and  doubt.  The  ruffians  had 
already  forced  their  way  into  the  house,  when  the  village  bell 
sounded  the  alarm  at  the  cry  of  Don  Abbondio.  Startled  at 
the  sound,  which  seemed  to  menace  them  with  an  indefinite, 
uncertain  danger,  they  become  confused,  hesitate,  and  with 


MANZONI. 


193 


difficulty  are  kept  together  by  their  more  experienced  lead- 
er, who,  though  taken  equally  by  surprise,  preserves  pres- 
ence of  mind  enough  to  guide  them  back  in  safety  to  the 
castle. 

Our  readers  will  remember  the  old  butler.  The  unusual 
preparations  at  the  castle  had  not  escaped  his  vigilant  eye. 
Warning  had  been  given  to  Padre  Cristoforo;  and  it  is 
his  messenger  calling  them  to  the  convent,  that  the  betrothed 
and  their  mother  meet,  on  their  flight  homeward  from  the 
alarm  in  front  of  the  church.  They  find  the  good  father 
waiting  for  them  at  the  convent  chapel ;  and  there,  after  a 
short  prayer,  and  a  parting  benediction,  he  consigns  them  to  a 
boatman,  whom  he  had  already  engaged  to  convey  them 
across  the  lake,  whence  they  proceed  by  land,  the  females  to 
Monza,  and  Renzo  towards  Milan. 

Our  mountaineer  first  enters  the  capital  in  a  moment  of 
universal  confusion.  The  scarcity  of  provisions,  which  for 
some  time  had  been  growing  more  sensible,  and  gradually 
assuming  all  the  features  of  a  famine,  had  at  length  reached 
a  pass  at  which  popular  feeling  could  no  longer  be  restrained 
by  ordinary  means.  It  was  chiefly  directed  against  the  ba- 
kers, whom  common  report  accused  of  being  concerned  in  a 
monopoly  of  grain.  From  being  a  simple  spectator  of  the 
ravages  of  the  excited  populace,  Renzo  is  betrayed  into  some 
indiscretions  of  the  tongue,  which  a  government  spy  turns  to 
his  own  advantage,  and  awakes  him  next  morning  a  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  the  sbirri.  Fortunately  for  him,  the  tumult 
had  not  wholly  subsided.  He  dexterously  avails  himself  of 
an  opportunity  of  rescue  that  occurs  as  he  is  on  his  way  to 

17 


194  MANZONI. 

prison,  and  escapes  into  the  territories  of  Venice.  Being  a 
skilful  workman,  he  finds  immediate  occupation  in  a  manufac- 
tory, where  one  of  his  own  family  had  long  stood  foreman, 
and  begins  to  look  forward  to  the  happy  moment  when  he 
can  invite  Lucia  and  her  mother  to  join  him  in  his  new 
abode. 

Poor  Lucia  has  also  her  share  of  troubles.  Agnese's  first 
care  had  been  to  present  the  letter,  of  which  they  were  bear- 
ers, to  the  guardian  of  a  Capuchin  convent  in  Monza.  The 
good  friar,  like  his  friend  Cristofbro,  enters  warmly  into  the 
sufferings  of  the  maiden,  and  obtains  for  her,  by  his  personal 
recommendation,  the  protection  of  the  personage  whom  we 
have  already  mentioned  as  the  Monaca  di  Monza.  Agnese 
remains  a  short  time  with  her  daughter,  and  then  returns  upon 
a  visit  to  her  native  place.  Lucia,  by  her  gentle  and  winning 
manners,  soon  gains  a  strong  hold  upon  the  affections  of  the 
capricious  princess. 

But  what  is  Don  Rodrigo  doing  all  this  while  ?  To  sit 
tamely  down  after  such  an  insult,  and  acknowledge  himself 
beaten  by  a  country  clown  and  a  Capuchin  friar, —  what  no- 
ble could  bear  so  humiliating  a  thought  ?  He  traces  Lucia 
to  the  convent.  But  the  stroke  was  too  bold  a  one  for  him. 
In  this  exigence  he  addresses  himself  to  the  Innominato ;  and 
§uch  is  the  occasion  on  which  we  first  meet  this  formida- 
ble outlaw.  The  Innominato  takes  up  the  enterprise  with 
warmth ;  but  repents  of  his  engagement,  the  very  next  mo- 
ment ;  for  he  had  already  become  wearied  with  his  career  of 
guilt.  Yet  his  word  has  been  passed,  and  the  pledge  must  be 
redeemed.     He  bethinks  him  of  Egidio,  the  lover  of  the  no- 


MANZONI. 


195 


ble  nun.  Hard  is  the  struggle  in  the  breast  of  the  princess ; 
but,  the  first  crime  committed,  who  can  flatter  himself  that  he 
will  have  strength  to  resist  the  second  ?  A  pretext  is  found 
for  sending  Lucia  upon  an  errand  at  a  distance  from  the 
convent,  and  on  the  way  she  is  seized  by  the  emissaries  of 
the  Innominato,  and  conveyed,  half  dead  with  fright,  to  his 
castle.  What  a  night!  what  tears,  what  agony,  what  despera- 
tion !  In  the  midst  of  her  anguish,  her  consciousness  of  the 
present,  her  terrors  for  the  future,  she  invokes  the  aid  of  the 
Virgin,  and  vows,  as  the  dearest  offering  she  can  make,  never 
to  marry. 

Nor  was  the  night  of  the  Innominato  a  tranquil  one.     He 
had  long  been  tormented  by  the  occasional  upbraidings  of  re- 
morse.   The  sight  of  Lucia,  the  few  words  of  supplication,  of 
heart-wrung  entreaty,  that  she  had  uttered,  had  completed  the 
work,  and  conscience  now  spoke  in  a  voice  that  would  not  be 
hushed.     After  tossing  for  hours  on  his  feverish  couch,  he  is 
roused  at  early  dawn  by  the  ringing  of  bells  and  shouts  of  joy 
from  below.    They  are  for  the  coming  of  Frederic,  who  was 
that  day  to  make  a  pastoral  visit  to  a  neighboring  village. 
■  Who  is  he  ?     Why  should  one  man  have  the  power  of  ma- 
king so  many  people  happy,  and  I  only  the  common  one  of 
making  them  miserable  ?     I  will  see  him ;  I  will  hear  him." 
Imagine  that  interview,  for  we  cannot  describe  it.     See  the 
Innominato  as  he  issues  from  the  presence  of  Frederic ;  mark 
his  relaxed  brow,  and  the  change  in  his  eye ;  observe  with 
what  anxious  steps  he  retraces  his  way  towards  the  castle, 
each  instant  seeming  an  age,  for  each  seemed  to  prolong  the 
torment  of  his  victim  ;  see  him  follow  the  litter  of  Lucia  till 


196  MANZONI. 

she  is  once  more  placed  in  safety  in  the  hands  of  a  kind- 
hearted  villager,  and  then  flying  again  to  the  presence  of  him, 
from  whom  he  had  heard  such  words  of  joy  and  consolation 
as  had  never  fallen  upon  his  ears  before.  And  if  you  would 
change  a  little  the  coloring  of  the  scene,  recall  to  your  minds 
who  the  Innominato  was ;  think  how  long  his  dwelling-place 
had  been  the  scene  of  every  horrid  tale,  and  his  name  a  word 
of  terror  even  to  babes ;  and  then  picture  to  yourselves  our 
friend  Don  Abbondio,  mounted  upon  a  mule,  and  riding  at 
his  side,  even  into  the  jaws  of  that  very  den.  One  alone  of 
all  the  exclamations  that  broke  from  him  in  that  hour  of  trial, 
will  sufficiently  explain  the  state  of  his  mind.  "  It  could  not 
have  gone  worse  with  me,  even  if  I  had  married  them  at 
once!"  And  so  too  he  thought,  when  stammering  and  unable 
to  reply,  he  listened  to  the  reproofs  of  Frederic  for  this  grave 
transgression  of  his  duty. 

The  story  of  Lucia,  of  the  conversion  of  the  Innominato,  of 
the  part  taken  in  it  by  Frederic,  is  rapidly  noised  abroad ; 
and,  in  the  interest  generally  awakened  for  our  heroine,  a  Mi- 
lanese lady  of  rank  volunteers  to  take  her  under  her  protection. 
In  Milan,  therefore,  we  must  leave  her  for  the  present,  and 
look  around  for  other  personages  who  have  an  equal  claim 
upon  our  notice. 

Don  Rodrigo  was  not  the  last  to  hear  of  the  conversion  of 
his  ally  and  the  liberation  of  Lucia,  and  to  perceive  what  a 
figure  he  was  making  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Every  thing 
had  promised  so  well !  By  the  assistance  of  Attilio,  Padre 
Cristoforo  had  been  sent  off  to  Rimini  to  preach  during  Lent. 
Renzo,  after  his  adventures  at  Milan,  had  been  publicly  pro- 


MANZONI. 


197 


scribed,  and  a  reward  offered  for  his  capture.  The  ground 
was  clear;  and  to  think  that  just  at  that  moment,  Frederic, 
with  his  out-of-the-way  piety,  and  the  Innominate,  with  his 
ridiculous  scruples,  which  after  all  looked  so  much  like  hy- 
pocrisy, should  spoil  so  fine  a  game,  and  one  that  had  cost  him 
more  anxiety  and  greater  efforts,  than  all  his  other  enterprises 
put  together !  To  complete  his  embarrassment,  Frederic  was 
coming,  in  a  few  days,  into  his  part  of  the  country ;  and  with 
what  face  could  he  meet  him  ?  And  yet  how  could  he,  the 
first  lord  of  the  district,  avoid  going  in  person  to  welcome  so 
high  a  dignitary  ?  There  was  no  choice,  and  away  he  goes 
to  Milan,  to  drown  in  dissipation  the  recollection  of  his  defeat, 
or  throw  it  at  once  into  the  shade  by  some  new  and  signal 
triumph. 

Poor  Renzo !  his  first  thought  had  been  to  escape,  and 
then  to  open  a  correspondence  with  Lucia.  But  he  soon 
found  it  necessary  to  change  his  name  for  a  while  and  secrete 
himself.  Then,  as  he  did  not  know  how  to  write,  think  of 
his  task  in  making  out  his  story,  and  telling  what  he  hoped 
and  what  he  intended,  and  what  grounds  he  had  both  for  his 
hopes  and  his  intentions ;  and  all  this  with  the  aid  of  a  scribe 
who  was  not  to  be  let  fully  into  the  secret,  and  who  moreover 
knew  his  business  too  well,  not  to  throw  in  a  few  flourishes  of 
his  own  pen,  by  way  of  embellishment  to  the  simple  story  of 
the  mountaineer.  And  then  there  was  the  answer  of  Agnese, 
which  he  could  not  read,  and  was  accordingly  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  his  scribe  again.  Here  were  the  adventures  of 
Lucia ;  the  story  of  the  barbarous  outrage  upon  her  person ; 
of  her  miraculous  deliverance  ;  and,  last  of  all,  the  vow,  — - 

17* 


198  MANZONI. 

that  terrible  vow  to  the  Madonna.  Think  how  all  this  sounded 
in  the  poor  swain's  ears,  and  so  distinctly  told  too,  for  Ag- 
nese's  scribe  was  cousin-german  to  Renzo's,  and  repaid  his 
embellishments  with  interest.  In  short  it  was  all  confusion, 
doubt,  mystery ;  with  just  light  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad. 
And  all  this  for  that  wretch  of  a  Rodrigo,  and  that  cowardly 
old  curate !     But  patience  ;  their  time  is  coming. 

First  follows  the  passage  of  the  Imperial  army  to  the  siege 
of  Mantua ;  friends,  it  is  true,  but  such  friends !     Every  vil- 
lage sacked ;  every  field  laid  waste ;  such  wanton  havoc ;  such 
brutal  outrages !     The  peasants  flying  to  the  mountains  for 
shelter,  driving  their  flocks  and  herds  before  them ;  and  old 
and  young,  men  and  women,  tottering  under  the  weight  of 
whatever  there  was  a  hope  of  saving  from  the  hands  of  the 
invader.     Among  the  fugitives  we  find  three  of  our  old  ac- 
quaintances, Agnese,  Don  Abbondio,  and  his  faithful  Perpe- 
tua.     They  take  refuge  at  the  castle  of  the  Innominato,  whose 
name  was  then  covered  with  more  benedictions  than  perhaps 
balanced  the  bitter  tears,  which  his  former  excesses  had  drawn 
forth.     But  what  an  asylum  for  Don  Abbondio !     A  regular 
camp ;  provisioned,  that  was  well  enough ;  fortified,  that  too 
might  pass.     But  the  armed  men ;  the  muskets ;  the  swords ; 
the  change  of  sentinels ;  the  busy  note  of  preparation ;  the 
sudden  and  oft-repeated  alarms !     The  poor  priest  was  almost 
dead  with  terror ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  one  important  duty, 
that  kept  him  constantly  occupied  during  the  whole  three 
weeks  of  his  imprisonment,  Heaven  only  knows  how  he  would 
have  survived  them.     He  was  employed  from  morning  to 
night,  searching  out  among  the  glens  and  precipices  by  which 


MANZONI.  199 

the  castle  was  surrounded,  some  nook,  where,  in  case  of  a 
fight,  he  might  hide  himself  away. 

The  troops  all  gone,  the  famine  became  more  general,  and 
more  fatal.  And  just  as  men's  minds  and  bodies  seemed  to 
have  been  prepared  for  some  new  calamity,  comes  the  plague. 
It  was  the  parting  legacy  of  the  Germans.  Its  progress  in 
the  beginning  was  slow,  although  the  forms  that  it  assumed 
were  always  terrible.  During  the  winter  it  crept  stealthily 
onward,  silently  spreading  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  strengthen- 
ing its  hold  with  each  progressive  step,  and  gradually  becom- 
ing more  and  more  evident,  until  of  a  sudden,  like  a  long- 
smothered  flame,  it  broke  forth  in  all  its  terrors.  And  then 
the  bands  of  society  were  severed,  the  dearest  ties  broken 
asunder.  Every  thought  centred  in  the  all-absorbing  care  of 
self-preservation.  The  ordinary  resources  of  government  were 
soon  exhausted ;  the  hospitals  crowded  to  overflowing ;  men 
and  children  left  to  perish  by  the  wayside ;  the  holiest  recesses 
of  domestic  life  profaned  by  the  tread  of  the  loathsome  instru- 
ments, who  alone  could  be  found  in  those  moments  of  desola- 
tion, to  perform  the  duties  of  the  sick  bed  and  the  grave ;  the 
laws  without  force ;  the  very  men  who  had  made  them,  and 
who  should  have  watched  over  their  execution,  victims  of  the 
common  scourge.  It  is  here,  in  the  thronged  chambers  of  the 
Lazaretto,  that  we  meet  once  more  the  four  principal  per- 
sonages of  our  narrative,  two  of  them  for  the  last  time. 

Renzo  no  sooner  recovers  from  the  plague,  than  he  sets  out 
in  search  of  his  beloved.  His  steps  are  first  turned  towards 
his  native  village;  and  whom  should  he  meet  there,  pale, 
emaciated,  leaning  upon  a  staff,  that  hardly  yields  the  desired 


200  MANZONX. 

support  to  his  trembling  limbs,  but  Don  Abbondio  ?  From 
him  he  hears  the  long  catalogue  of  woes,  which,  to  the  native 
of  a  little  mountain  hamlet,  where  every  next  door  neighbor 
seems  a  kinsman,  might  almost  be  called  domestic.  Agnese  is 
safe,  but  with  a  relation  in  a  distant  village  ;  Lucia  at  Milan, 
but  whether  dead  or  alive  he  knows  not.  Away  then  once 
more  to  the  capital,  with  a  hurried  pace  and  a  beating  heart. 
He  finds  the  house  of  her  protector,  but  she  is  at  the  Laza- 
retto. Thither  he  turns  his  steps,  and  there,  amid  the  dying 
and  the  dead,  surrounded  by  every  form  of  desolation  and  of 
woe,  he  finds  Padre  Cristoforo.  The  old  man  is  well  nigh 
his  end,  with  the  pestilence  already  written  in  unerring  lines 
upon  his  pallid  features ;  but  still  active,  still  regardless  of 
himself;  hoarding,  as  it  were,  the  last  sands  of  life,  that  he 
may  gain  one  more  hour  for  the  service  of  others.  The  in- 
terview is  a  brief,  a  melancholy  one.  Rerizo  is  worked  up  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  excitement ;  doubt,  rage,  revenge,  struggle 
together  in  his  bosom,  and  even  with  such  a  scene  before  him, 
he  breaks  out,  for  a  moment,  in  execrations  upon  his  oppres- 
sor. A  few  words  from  the  friar  recall  him  to  himself.  With 
a  stricken  conscience  and  a  moistened  eye,  he  listens  to  his 
reproof;  but  how  much  deeper  does  the  lesson  sink  into  his 
heart,  when  the  Father  leads  him  to  the  couch  where  Don 
Rodrigo  is  breathing  away  in  insensibility  the  last  moments 
of  his  criminal  career.  A  prayer  at  that  bedside,  an  entreaty, 
warm  from  the  depths  of  his  soul,  that  the  Almighty  might 
forgive  him  as  he  had  forgiven,  and  he  resumes,  with  a  calm- 
er, almost  with  a  lighter  heart,  his  melancholy  search.  We 
will  not  follow  him.     We  will  not  count  those  moments  of 


MANZONI.  201 

agonizing  doubt.  He  finds  Lucia,  finds  her  safe,  safe  from 
that  hand  which  had  laid  so  many  low.  Padre  Cristoforo  re- 
leases her  from  her  vow.  It  is  their  last  sight  of  the  good 
old  man ;  for,  but  a  few  days  after,  he  is  called  to  that  reward 
for  which  he  had  been  toiling  so  long.  The  pestilence  ceases. 
Agnese,  Lucia,  Renzo,  meet  again  in  their  own  dear  mountain 
home.  The  curate,  freed  from  the  fear  of  Don  Rodrigo,  no 
longer  withholds  the  nuptial  blessing :  and  our  hero  and  hero- 
ine, and  their  kind-hearted  mother,  with  their  minds  strength- 
ened by  adversity  and  their  hearts  purified  by  sorrow,  are  left 
as  happy  as  mutual  love  and  the  gratification  of  their  warm- 
est desires  could  make  them. 

Such  is  the  plot  of  the  "  Promessi  Sposi."  There  is  not  an 
extravagance  in  the  whole  work ;  not  a  scene  that  might  not 
have  actually  occurred ;  not  a  phrase  or  a  sentiment  in  the 
mouth  of  any  individual,  which  might  not  have  been  expected 
from  such  a  person,  under  such  circumstances.  Every  cha- 
racter is  in  perfect  keeping ;  from  the  terrors  of  Don  Abbon- 
dio  to  the  garrulity  of  Perpetua ;  from  the  meek  piety  of 
Lucia  to  the  sublime  morality  of  Padre  Cristoforo. 

The  general  management  of  the  narrative  is  equally 
happy;  and  every  personage,  and  every  incident,  is  intro- 
duced with  singular  skill.  The  work  opens  with  a  description 
of  one  of  the  loveliest  scenes  in  Italy,  a  branch  of  the  lake  of 
Como.  The  description  is  not  long,  but  yet  enough  so  to 
make  you  feel  the  author's  power,  and  raise  your  expectations 
of  what  is  to  follow.  The  first  scene  is  the  meeting  of  Don 
Abbondio  with  the  bravoes  of  Rodrigo.  From  this  moment 
you  are  interested  for  Lucia  and  her  lover.     Who  are  they  ? 


202  MANZONI. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  tyranny  ?  What  is  there  in  a 
simple  country  girl,  that  a  noble  of  the  land  should  resort  to 
such  high-handed  measures  in  order  to  prevent  her  marriage  ? 
Then  come  Perpetua,  and  poor  old  Abbondio,  at  home.  Ren- 
zo  follows  next ;  and,  if  you  get  thus  far,  you  must  read  the 
whole  book,  for  you  must  see  how  it  is  going  to  end,  and 
what  Padre  Cristoforo  can  do,  and  whether  that  wretch  Ro- 
drigo  really  will  succeed,  and  what  is  to  become  of  poor  Lu- 
cia ;  the  whole  story,  in  short,  for  it  is  so  well  woven  together, 
that  one  thing  seems  to  follow  the  other  like  real  life. 

The  historical  incidents  are  managed  with  equal  felicity. 
The  famine,  the  passage  of  the  Germans,  the  plague,  are  so 
necessarily  connected  with  the  rest  of  the  tale,  that  you  would 
be  puzzled  how  to  bring  one  part  about  without  the  help  of 
the  other.  We  will  even  say  as  much  for  the  historical  char- 
acters. Frederic,  the  Innominato,  the  Monaca  di  Monza, 
have  not  so  much  the  air  of  having  been  sought  out  by  our 
author,  as  of  having  come,  of  their  own  accord,  to  place  them- 
selves just  where  they  stand. 

A  great  variety  of  scenes  result  from  this  arrangement. 
The  flight  of  the  betrothed,  and  their  first  separation  from 
home,  are  described  in  language  which  none  but  a  poet  could 
have  used.  The  mob  at  Milan,  Renzo's  escape  from  the 
sbirri,  and  his  flight  into  the  territory  of  Bergamo,  particularly 
the  last,  with  that  long,  long  night  of  wandering,  are  told  with 
wonderful  power.  Nothing  can  be  more  ludicrous  than  the 
appearance  of  Don  Abbondio  on  almost  every  occasion  ;  while 
the  closing  incidents,  the  aspect  of  Milan,  of  the  Lazaretto, 
and  the  scenes  that  pass  there,  are  equal  to  the  finest  passages 


MANZONI.  203 

of  Scott  himself.  We  are  at  a  loss,  in  fact,  to  select,  where 
all  is  so  beautiful ;  but  perhaps  were  we  called  upon  to  fix  on 
any  particular  chapter  as  giving  an  idea  of  the  real  power  of 
Manzoni,  we  should  choose  the  sketch  of  Padre  Cristoforo. 

The  general  character  of  the  narrative  is  simplicity.     Of 
this  our  author  never  loses  sight,  even  in  the  most  elevated  pas- 
sages or  in  the  most  pathetic.     The  result  is  a  truth  to  nature, 
which  almost  makes  you  fancy  the  whole  story  to  be  true. 
There  is,  moreover,  a  quiet  vein  of  humor  running  through  it, 
so  well  managed,  and  brought  out  with  such  skill,  as  to  pro- 
duce a  most  delightful  effect.      It  will  remind  the  English 
reader  of  the  exquisite  humor  of  the  good  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 
We  would  not  have  it  supposed  however,  that,  much  as  we 
admire  this  work,  we  consider  it  faultless.     It  has  several  de- 
fects, and  some  that  we  could  hardly  pardon  in  any  other 
author.     Interesting  as  the  stories  of  Frederic  and  of  the  In- 
nominate are,  they  are  too  long.     This  remark  applies  with 
still  greater  force  to  Don  Ferrante  and  the  Monaca  di  Monza. 
They  are  not  enough  before  our  eyes  as  actors  in  the  general 
plot,  to  bear  so  minute  a  detail  of  their  private  history.     After 
having  read  so  much  about  what  they  have  done  on  other 
occasions,  we  want  them  to  do  more  on  this.     Nor  does  it 
better  the  matter  to  say,  that  these  stories  are  beautifully  told ; 
that  the  portrait  of  the  Monaca  di  Monza  is  drawn  with  a 
vigor,  that  has  seldom  been  equalled ;  that  Don  Ferrante  is  a 
decided  "  Secentista,"  and  painted  to  the  life.     They  are  not 
any  the  more  connected  with  the  story  for  all  this ;  and  they 
give  it,  moreover,  an  episodical  character,  which  has  more 
than  once  made  us  think,  that  our  author  has  not  always  dis- 


204  MANZONI. 

tinguished  the  style  of  the  school  of  "  Gil  Bias,"  (where  story 
is  interwoven  with  story,  and  every  new  comer  feels  bound  to 
tell  you  the  history  of  his  life,)  from  the  more  concentrated 
and  continuous  narrative  which  belongs  to  historical  romance. 
In  the  catalogue  of  the  library  of  Don  Ferrante,  we  are 
almost  afraid  of  making  a  gross  blunder,  but  we  cannot  help 
thinking  of  the  celebrated  library  of  Don  Quixote. 

The  description  of  the  famine  is  accompanied  with  many 
rare  and  interesting  notices,  but  still  it  fills  up  too  much  room ; 
and  many  a  reader  who  is  seeking  for  mere  amusement,  and 
who  must  have  the  brim  of  his  cup  sweetened,  if  you  would 
have  him  draw  in  instruction  with  it,  will  be  apt  to  skip  it  all, 
after  the  first  page.  How  easily,  too,  might  the  whole  history 
of  the  plague  have  been  interwoven  with  the  narrative.  What 
Renzo  sees  in  the  country,  in  the  streets  of  Milan,  and  in  the 
Lazaretto,  conveys  a  far  more  impressive  idea  of  the  real 
extent  of  the  suffering,  than  the  whole  introduction.  When 
your  feelings  have  once  become  interested  in  the  heroes  of 
the  story,  you  cannot  bear  to  lose  sight  of  them  so  long.  The 
interest  flags,  unless  they  are  constantly  before  you;  and, 
when  you  return  to  them  after  a  minute  description  of  any 
event,  however  important  in  itself,  they  no  longer  look  as  fa- 
miliar as  they  ought.  In  these  instances,  therefore,  our  author 
seems  to  us  to  have  failed  in  those  very  qualifications,  in  which 
he  has  succeeded  so  well  in  other  parts  of  his  work.  He  has 
encroached  somewhat  too  much  upon  the  province  of  the  histo- 
rian ;  and,  although  the  details  into  which  he  enters  are  highly 
interesting,  and  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  yet  are  they  none 
the  less  out  of  place.    This  becomes  still  more  apparent,  upon 


MANZONI.  205 

comparing  them  with  the  description  of  the  passage  of  the 
German  army ;  a  portion  of  real  history,  yet  so  skilfully  inter- 
woven with  the  general  plot,  that  the  narrative  never  for  a 
moment  stands  still,  and  some  one  or  other  of  the  persons  that 
interest  us,  is  kept  constantly  before  our  eyes.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  scenes  that  occur  during  Renzo's  second 
journey  to  Milan.  He  is  constantly  with  us,  from  the  first  to 
the  last  of  the  melancholy  search ;  and  the  idea  which  this 
mode  of  narration  gives  us  of  the  ravages  of  the  plague,  of  the 
desolation  and  terror  that  reign  every  where,  is  so  clear,  so 
distinct,  and  so  powerful,  that  you  feel  as  if  he  had  taken  you 
by  the  hand,  and  carried  you  with  him  through  all  the  horrors 
of  the  scene.    Why  then  that  long,  misplaced  introduction? 

One  more  complaint,  and  we  have  done.     Manzoni  has 
most  of  the  qualifications  of  a  great  writer.     He  feels  deeply. 
He  thinks  clearly.     His  knowledge  of  life  and  of  man  is  ex- 
tensive and  profound.     He  has  a  perfect  command  over  his 
conceptions,  and  all  his  ideas  are  distinct  and  well  defined. 
Why,  then,  neglect  his  language  ?     Why  refuse  the  aid  of 
those  graces  of  expression,  those  artifices  of  style,  which  add 
to  the  charm  even  of  the  profoundest  ideas,  and  of  the  strong- 
est feelings  ?     It  is  but  a  cold  conclusion  to  say,  that  his  work 
is  well  written ;  and  yet  we  cannot  in  conscience  say  any  thing 
more.     With  a  language  unrivalled  for  richness  and  variety ; 
with  idioms  and  phrases  that  seem  to  have  been  purposely 
formed  to  give  a  winning  grace,  an  irresistible  energy,  to 
every  conception  of  the  mind,  and  every  emotion  of  the  heart ; 
with  beauties  courting  his  attention  on  every  side ;  he  has 
preferred  a  meagre  parsimony  of  all,  that  nowhere  seems  so 

18 


206  MANZONI. 

much  out  of  place,  as  in  a  work  written  purely  to  please.  His 
fear  of  affectation,  and  his  abhorrence  of  the  secentisti,  have 
betrayed  him  into  a  neglect  of  those  higher  beauties,  which 
are  as  far  removed  from  the  vapid  turgidness  of  that  forgotten 
school,  as  they  are  true  to  nature  herself.  He  could  never  be 
an  affected  writer.  He  possesses  too  much  real  feeling,  of  that 
spontaneous  feeling  which  is  the  surest  guard  against  affecta- 
tion. We  know  that  Manzoni's  diction  bears  the  coloring  of 
his  literary  opinions.  This  is  not  the  place  for  discussing 
them ;  yet,  in  so  long  an  examination  of  his  principal  work, 
it  would  have  been  both  difficult  and  unfair  to  avoid  a  passing 
allusion.* 

We  would  say  in  conclusion,  that  we  look  upon  the  "  Pro- 
messi  Sposi "  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful  productions  of  the 
age.  As  a  work  of  art  we  have  ventured  to  criticize  it,  and 
point  out,  one  by  one,  what  seem  to  us  blemishes.  Yet,  how- 
ever much  these  may  diminish  our  pleasure  in  one  sense,  we 
lay  down  these  volumes  with  a  firm  conviction  that  the  author 
has  accomplished  the  task  which  he  had  set  himself.  We 
have  seen  what  materials  the  age  furnished  him,  and  what  he 
formed  for  himself.  We  have  seen,  too,  the  beautiful  use  that 
he  has  made  of  them ;  how,  by  the  very  simplicity  of  the 
heroes  of  the  tale,  he  has  heightened  the  picture  of  oppression 
and  crime ;  how,  by  the  introduction  of  Cristoforo  and  Fred- 
eric, he  has  set  religion  in  the  most  fascinating  light ;  how 
truly  he  has  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  times,  and  how  faith- 

*  Since  these  pages  were  written  Manzoni  has  published  a  revised 
edition  of  the  "  Promessi  Sposi "  in  which  he  has  taken  great  pains  to 
substitute  pure  Tuscan  idioms  for  the  Lombardisms  which  are  too  freely 
scattered  through  the  former  editions. 


MANZONI.  207 

fully  he  has  preserved  their  coloring.  And  yet  we  believe 
that  we  are  adding  even  to  these  eulogiums,  when  we  praise 
its  calm  and  soothing  tone ;  that  tranquillizing  influence,  which 
it  preserves  throughout,  and  which  leaves  the  reader,  like  the 
hero  and  heroine  of  the  tale,  quiet,  and  contented,  but  not 
boisterously  happy,  for  they  have  felt  what  a  chastening  power 
there  is  in  the  hand  of  adversity.* 

*  Since  writing  the  preceding  pages,  we  have  been  favored  by  a  lite- 
rary friend  with  a  biographical  sketch  of  Manzoni.  "  What  is  writ  is 
writ,"  and  we  do  not  feel  disposed  to  alter  it.  But  the  following  dates 
may,  perhaps,  not  be  uninteresting.  Manzoni  is  a  grandson  of  the  cele- 
brated Beccaria.  He  was  born  in  1784,  and  was  married  in  1808  to  a 
Protestant  lady  of  Geneva,  who  subsequently  embraced  the  creed  of  her 
husband.  His  first  publications  were  two  short  poems  in  blank  verse. 
In  1810  he  published  his  "  Inni  Sacri,"  five  sacred  lyrics,  of  which  two  at 
least  are  of  a  very  high  order;  in  1820,  the  "  Conte  di  Carmagnola,"  and, 
in  1823,  the  "Adelchi,"  two  tragedies  which  have  been  more  admired  by 
foreigners  than  by  Italians.  An  Ode  upon  Napoleon,  which  we  shall 
not  hesitate  to  call  the  finest  that  ever  has  been  written  upon  that  diffi- 
cult subject,  was  published  about  the  same  time.  He  has  also  written  a 
defence  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  reply  to  some  passages  in  Sismondi, 
and  a  disquisition  on  some  questions  in  the  history  of  the  Lombards. 
He  resides  at  Milan,  and  is  now  married  to  a  second  wife. 


THE  HOPES  OF  ITALY: 


They  know  but  little  of  an  author's  trials  who  suppose 
them  to  begin  and  end  with  the  composition  of  a  book.  It 
is  hard  work,  it  is  true,  to  choose  your  subject,  and  when 
chosen,  to  divide  it  into  its  proper  parts,  to  adjust  them  all 
nicely  to  one  another,  to  make  an  accurate  distribution  of 
proof  and  development  and  illustration,  to  say  just  as  much  as 
you  ought,  and  no  more,  and  say  it  in  a  style  and  in  language 
suited  both  to  the  matter  and  to  the  readers  for  whom  it  is 
designed.  But  when  all  this  is  accomplished,  and  you  would 
fain  launch  your  fragile  bark  upon  the  waters,  how  often  are 
you  at  a  loss  to  say  under  what  name  it  shall  go  forth ;  to  find 
that  magic  word,  which,  amid  the  contending  crowd  of  courtiers 
and  favorites,  shall  draw  one  inquiring  glance  to  this  unknown 
adventurer,  and  which,  while  it  excites  curiosity  and  awakens 
expectation,  shall  hold  out  no  promise  which  you  are  not  pre- 
pared to  perform ! 

In  this  respect  we  may  congratulate  Count  Balbo  upon  his 
success.     We  may  call  him  happy  in  the  choice  of  a  title  so 

*  Delle  Speranze  d' Italia.    (Cesare  Balbo.)    Capolago.    1845.    12mo. 


THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

justly  expressive  of  his  own  generous  feelings;  singularly 
felicitous  in  the  selection  of  a  word  clear  and  definite  in  its 
promises,  and  which  falls  upon  the  ear  like  one  of  those  mys- 
terious strains  which  you  sometimes  hear,  amid  the  dewy 
stillness  of  evening,  from  the  ivy-crowned  ruins  of  his  own 
beautiful  land.  Twenty  years  ago,  who  would  have  thought 
of  such  a  title  ?  What  Italian  would  have  dared  to  set  his 
name  to  such  a  picture  of  his  country's  wants  and  wrongs  and 
errors,  and  still  live  at  home  ?  "Who  could  thus  have  braved 
passion  and  power,  and  have  hoped  to  escape  the  Spielberg 
or  a  stiletto  ?  This  little  volume  is  more  than  a  promise,  it  is  a 
performance ;  it  is  more  than  a  hope,  it  is  a  reality, — a  tangi- 
ble proof,  a  living  witness,  that,  however  sad  the  past,  however 
gloomy  the  present,  there  is  still  for  Italy  a  future  worthy  of 
a  patriot's  hopes  and  a  philanthropist's  aspirations. 

And  it  is  this  spirit  of  faith  and  trust  which  forms  one  of  the 
great  charms  of  this  volume.  We  have  no  sympathy  with 
perpetual  skepticism.  We  do  not  understand  how  a  man  can 
pretend  to  believe  in  an  overruling  Providence,  and  yet  des- 
pair of  the  progress  of  his  race.  It  is  such  a  bold  assumption 
of  superior  wisdom,  such  a  heartless  denial  of  God's  goodness, 
that  we  have  no  patience  with  it.  That  great  law  of  progress 
is  written  in  such  broad  characters  on  every  page  of  history, 
that  he  who  runs  may  read  it  there.  The  past,  without  it,  is 
unintelligible ;  the  present,  so  cheerless  and  dreary,  that  earn- 
est hearts  would  sink  under  the  burden,  and  man,  reduced  to 
the  selfish  bounds  of  his  own  individuality,  would  be  absolved 
from  all  those  endearing  and  ennobling  ties  which,  connecting 
him  with  the  past  by  gratitude  and  with  the  future  by  hope, 

18* 


210  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

prepare  him  with  each  progressive  generation  for  higher  aims, 
more  expansive  usefulness,  and  purer  enjoyment. 

And  if  this  faith  in  the  future  be  necessary  everywhere, 
how  vitally  essential  is  it  in  speaking  of  Italy!  Nowhere 
have  the  elements  of  discord  and  harmony  been  so  singularly 
mingled  as  there ;  never  such  tenacity  of  purpose,  with  such 
imperfect  results ;  a  will  so  indomitable,  with  such  irregularity 
of  action  ;  so  much  weakness  and  so  much  energy;  such  spot- 
less purity  and  such  black  corruption ;  such  heavenward  aspi- 
rations, with  such  abject  debasement ;  so  close  and  enduring 
an  alliance  of  hope  and  despair.  No  history  is  fraught  with 
lessons  of  more  universal  application ;  in  none  have  the  great 
questions  of  social  organization  been  more  boldly  or  variously 
propounded.  And  yet,  after  nearly  three  thousand  years  of 
struggle  and  revolution  and  endurance,  after  having  proved 
every  vicissitude  of  favorable  and  of  adverse  fortune,  ruling 
by  religion  long  after  she  had  ceased  to  rule  by  the  sword, 
opening  new  paths  in  every  science,  while  she  left  them  to  be 
trodden  by  others,  and,  in  the  midst  of  her  political  degrada- 
tion, asserting  from  time  to  time,  with  untiring  energy,  her 
intellectual  supremacy,  she  still  remains  divided  and  depend- 
ent, restless  in  her  inactivity,  possessing  all  the  virulence  of 
party  without  its  redeeming  vitality,  and  seeking  in  change 
rather  a  respite  from  suffering  than  an  assurance  of  happi- 
ness.* 

*  For  we  may  well  apply  to  the  whole  of  Italy  what  Dante  said  so 
truthfully  of  Florence :  — 

"  Siraigliante  a  quella  'nferma 
Che  non  puo  trovar  posa  in  su  le  piurae, 
Ma  con  dar  volta  suo  dolore  scherma." 


THE  HOPES    OF  ITALY.  211 

But  let  us  take  a  closer  view  of  this  subject,  and  see  how 
far  this  external  aspect,  which  strikes  every  superficial  ob- 
server, will  bear  a  more  searching  examination.  The  want 
of  union  among  the  different  states  of  Italy  is  a  fact  as  old  as 
her  history  itself.  In  the  olden  time,  when  Eome  was  as  yet 
in  her  infancy,  Ligurians,  and  Etruscans,  and  Latins,  and 
Samnites,  and  Sabines  divided  the  peninsula  between  them, 
and  governed  their  respective  territories  by  that  oldest  of 
Italian  forms,  the  confederacy.*  All  the  first  centuries  of 
Rome  are  filled  with  her  contests  with  one  or  the  other  of 
these  formidable  rivals,  and  never,  during  her  long  career  of 
conquest,  was  she  compelled  to  put  forth  more  energy  or  bring 
higher  qualities  into  action  than  in  these  wars,  which,  when 
compared  with  many  of  those  in  which  she  was  afterwards 
engaged,  may  be  said  to  have  been  waged  at  her  own  gates. 
It  was  not  till  the  reign  of  Augustus,  when  nearly  all  the  rest 
of  the  known  world  had  been  reduced  under  her  dominion, 
that  the  conquest  of  Italy  was  finally  completed  by  the  subju- 
gation of  the  Salassi,  and  the  whole  of  the  peninsula,  from  the 
summit  of  the  Alps  to  the  straits  of  Messina,  united  in  one 
body.  But  with  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  these  deep-rooted 
divisions  broke  forth  anew.  Odoacer  held  it  together  during 
his  short  reign  of  thirteen  years,  and  Theodoric  during  his 
more  extended  one  of  thirty ;  and  when  his  kingdom  fell,  amid 
the  general  devastation  of  the  Grecian  conquest,  there  were 
ten  years  more,  during  which  the  survivors  continued  to  obey 
one  master  as  members  of  a  foreign  empire.     But  then  came 

*  Was  Rome  in  the  beginning  anything  more  than  a  member  of  the 
Latin  confederacy  ?    A  fundamental  question  yet  unanswered. 


212  THE   HOPES    OP   ITALY. 

the  Lombards,  and  after  them  the  Franks,  and  later  still  the 
Germans ;  and  meanwhile,  new  duchies  and  kingdoms  and 
independent  republics  were  springing  up  along  the  wide  ex- 
tent of  sea-coast,  and  on  the  river-banks,  and  in  the  midst  of 
her  fertile  plains,  and  among  the  craggy  fastnesses  of  her 
mountains,  till  every  little  state  could  boast  of  its  capital,  and 
every  capital  had  become  endeared  by  some  hallowing  asso- 
ciation. 

And  all  this  seems  to  have  been,  in  a  measure,  the  result 
of  one  of  those  general  laws  by  which  man  is  so  often  uncon- 
sciously governed,  and  which  seem  to  retard  his  progress  until 
a  more  thorough  knowledge  of  their  nature  and  bearing  en- 
ables him  to  act  in  perfect  harmony  with  them.  The  first 
glance  at  the  map  is  sufficient  to  show  that  Italy  was  not  de- 
signed for  a  uniform  development,  or  for  the  elaboration  of 
any  single  idea.  On  the  north,  you  see  the  broad  valley  of 
the  Po,  with  its  rich  alluvial  soil,  and  its  lakes  and  streams, 
extending  from  the  Cozzian  Alps  to  the  gulf  of  Venice.  You 
see  the  granite  wall  of  the  Alps,  shutting  it  in  from  Germany,* 
and  then  bending  around  its  western  border,  and  assuming  a 
new  name  where  it  sends  out  its  projecting  masses  to  meet 

*  See  Petrarch's  beautiful  allusion :  — 

M  Ben  provvide  natura  al  nostro  stato 
Quando  dell'  Alpi  schermo 
Pose  tra  noi  c  la  Tedesca  rabbia." 

Some  writers  have  proposed  to  read  mal  instead  of  ben.  Bembo,  too, 
has  two  beautiful  descriptive  verses  in  his  sonnet  to  Italy :  — 

"  O  pria  si  cera  al  ciel  del  mondo  parte, 
Che  1'  acqua  eigne  e  1'  sasso  orrido  serra, 
O  lieta  sovra  ogni  altra  e  dolce  terra, 
Che  '1  superbo  Apennin  segna  e  disparte,"  etc. 


THE   HOPES    OP   ITALY.  213 

the  blue  waves  of  the  Mediterranean,  hold  its  course  eastward 
beyond  the  centre  of  the  peninsula,  till  its  skirts  reach  almost 
down  to  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic.  And  all  along  its  course 
you  see  valleys  beginning  with  the  wildness  of  a  mountain 
solitude,  and  gradually  softening  as  they  expand,  till  their 
sunny  slopes  sink  down  into  the  plain  amid  vineyards  and 
cornfields  and  meadows  of  the  loveliest  green.  And  from  the 
north  and  the  west  and  the  south  pour  down  innumerable 
streams,  pure  and  cool  from  their  snowy  sources,  some  in  rapid 
torrents,  some  with  a  river-like  flow,  many  to  shrink  into  their 
channels  when  they  meet  the  first  rays  of  summer,  and  others 
to  continue  throughout  the  year  in  a  full  and  equal  current. 
And  from  west  to  east,  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  this 
mountain-girdled  plain,  flows  the  "  king  of  rivers,"*  holding  its 
course  from  where  its  first  murmurs  mingle  with  the  Alpine 
winds,  as  it  bubbles  up  a  crystal  rill  in  the  sunless  glens  of 
Monte  Viso,  to  where,  gathering  in  the  tribute  of  every  lake 
and  torrent  and  stream,  it  rolls  the  full  tide  of  its  congregated 
waters,  laden  with  deeply-freighted  barks  and  galleys  gaily- 
decked,  through  many  a  bloody  battle-field,  and  under  the 
walls  of  ancient  cities,  and  pours  them  at  last,  a  turbid  and 
impetuous  mass,  into  the  receding  waves  of  the  Adriatic. 

Then  this  same  great  chain,  which  began  as  the  Alps  and 
ends  as  the  Apennines,  takes  its  way  south-east  towards  the 
foot  of  the  peninsula,  dividing  it  into  unequal  parts,  and  rest- 
ing on  the  Mediterranean  close  by  the  straits  of  Messina  at 

*  "  Re  de'  fiumi." 

There  is  an  exquisite  allusion  to  the  sourcea  of  the  Po  in  Chiabrera's 
ode  to  Francesco  Sforza. 


214  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

its  southern  extremity.     Where  it  approaches  the  Adriatic, 
it  leaves  between  its  base  and  the  sea  a  tract  of  singular  fer- 
tility, but  broken  up  by  the  mountains  and  highlands,  which 
run  through  it,  into  deep  valleys  and  narrow  strips  of  plain. 
On  the  opposite  side,  and  much  farther  from  the  sea,  the  Arno 
rises  among  the  wildest  passes  of  the  mountains,  and,  flowing 
southward,  a  narrow  streamlet,  as  it  bends  round  the  Casen- 
tino,  turns  its  face  northward,  gradully  widening  and  deepen- 
ing as  it  runs,  till  having  returned,  after  a  course  of  upwards 
of  sixty  miles,  to  within  about  eleven  of  its  source,  it  once 
more  changes  its  direction,  and  holds  its  way  westward  towards 
the  Mediterranean,  through  a  succession  of  beautiful  valleys, 
which  it  unites  by  that  strong  tie  which  all  large  rivers  form 
for  the  countries  through  which  they  pass  and  the  cities  which 
stand  upon  their  banks.      And  twenty  miles  south  of  the 
sources  of  the  Arno,  and  still  among  the  same  wild  glens,  the 
Tiber  takes  its  rise,  to  flow,  first,  a  mountain  torrent  along  the 
base  of  the  Apennines,  and  then,  as  it  gathers  strength,  to 
wind  its  way  through  mountain  passes  and  thread  the  narrow 
valleys,  receiving,  as  it  runs,  the  waters  of  the  Chiascio,  and 
Argento,  and  Nera,  and  countless  streamlets  and  torrents  from 
east  and  west  and  north  and  south,  while  the  meadows  which 
draw  their  freshness  from  its  rising  waters  are  followed  by  the 
waving  grain  and  tresselled  vine,  and  towns  and  castles  lie 
scattered  along  its  banks,  till  at  last,  sweeping  around  the  base 
of  Soracte,  it  comes  out  upon  the  Campagna,  where,  with 
Etruria  upon  its  right  bank,  and  Sabina  and  Latium  upon  its 
left,  it  gathers  in  it3  last  tributary,  the  headlong  Anio,  rolls 
its  impetuous  waters  through  the  midst  of  the  Eternal  City, 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  215 

and,  dividing  them  at  the  fork  of  the  Sacred  Island,  pours 
them  out,  at  last,  in  a  yellow  current  which  discolors  with  its 
saffron  dje  the  deep  blue  of  the  Mediterranean  far  off  from 
the  shore.* 

Farther  on,  while  the  great  chain  of  the  Apennine  still 
holds  its  course  southward,  it  sends  out  its  branches  to  the 
east  and  the  west  in  such  numbers,  f  that  they  fill  up  the 
whole  breadth  of  the  peninsula,  and  hang  out  their  impending 
cliffs  over  the  sea.  And  the  valleys  that  lie  between  them 
are  often  so  deep,  and  the  passes  so  inaccessible,  that  their  in- 
habitants frequently  live  in  these  little  worlds  of  their  own, 
in  utter  ignorance  of  everything  that  occurs  beyond  the  peaks 
that  bound  their  horizon. 

And  then  there  is  that  long  line  of  sea-coast  from  the  Var 
to  the  Isonzo,  with  some  cities  built  upon  a  mountain  ledge, 
like  Genoa  and  Amalfii,  and  some,  like  Pisa  and  Rome,  a 
few  miles  inland,  and  some  at  the  bottom  of  spacious  bays, 
like  Naples  and  Tarentum,  and  some  in  the  midst  of  the 
waves,  as  Venice  yet  continues  and  Ravenna  once  was ;  some 

*  Virgil's  description,  like  all  pictures  from  the  life,  when  confined  to 
the  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  object,  still  holds  true :  — 

"  Vorticibus  rapidis,  et  multa  flavus  arena, 
In  mare  prorumpit." 

t  Bembo  has  a  beautiful  quatrain  upon  this,  in  his  sonnet  to  the  Apen- 
nine :  — 

"  Re  degli  altri  superbo  e  sacro  monte, 
Ch'  Italia  tutta  imperioso  parti, 
E  per  mille  contrade  e  piu  comparti 
Le  spalle,  il  rianco  e  P  una  e  1'  altra  fronte." 

The  best  of  all  descriptions  of  Italy  is  that  given  by  Napoleon  in  those 
admirable  memoirs  of  his  Italian  campaigns. 


216  THE   HOPES    OF   ITAXY. 

with  an  interior  to  fall  back  upon,  and  a  river  to  keep  open 
their  communication  with  it,  and  others  with  nothing  but 
mountains  behind  them,  and  the  broad  sea  before. 

Now,  where  shall  we  find  the  point  of  centralization  for  a 
country  which  nature  has  thus  divided?  Will  you  place  it 
in  Milan,  and  subject  the  hardy  mountaineers  of  the  Apen- 
nines to  these  soft  inhabitants  of  the  plain  ?  Or  in  Turin, 
beautiful  as  it  is,  and  with  a  warlike  population  at  its  com- 
mand, but  lying  far  away  in  a  corner  of  the  peninsula  ?  Or 
in  Bologna,  though  nearer  the  centre,  and  commanding  the 
great  roads  to  the  Marches,  and  the  most  frequented  pass  into 
Tuscany,  yet  too  far  from  the  Po  to  give  laws  to  Lombardy, 
and  too  unlike  the  cities  beyond  the  Apennines  to  assimilate 
with  them  either  in  manners  or  in  feeling  ?  Tuscany,  with 
its  mountain  valleys,  and  its  gentle  stream,  and  its  thriving 
seaport,  looks  as  if  nature  had  marked  it  out  to  stand  by  itself. 
And  Rome  in  the  midst  of  her  solitary  plain,  and  Naples  sur- 
rounded by  her  volcanoes,  seem  all  formed  alike  to  rule  over 
a  part,  and  all  too  remote  to  govern  the  whole. 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  her  divisions,  in  olden  times  as  well  as 
in  modern,  Italy  has  kept  up  the  struggle  for  independence 
with  unwavering  constancy.  It  would  be  difficult,  perhaps, 
to  find  the  key-word  of  Rome's  success,  unless  we  look  upon 
her  as  heading  a  native  confederacy  against  the  devastation 
of  a  second  Gaulish  invasion.*     And  the  anxieties  which  em- 

*  Another  fundamental  question  in  the  philosophy  of  Roman  history, 
which  neither  Machiavelli,  admirable  as  his  Discord  arc,  nor  Montes- 
quieu in  his  Considerations,  has  treated  from  its  true  point  of  view.  "  lis 
vainquircnt  tons  les  peuples  par  lcurs  maximes,"  says  Montesquieu. 
But  these  maxims,  as  Denina  has  well  observed  in  his  Rivoluzioni  d' 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  217 

bittered  the  last  years  of  Theodoric's  glorious  reign  must  have 
arisen  from  the  animosities,  if  not  from  the  hostile  machina- 
tions, of  his  Italian  subjects ;  for  how  else  can  we  explain  that 
sudden  change  in  a  character  so  noble  and  generous  till  then, 
or  account  for  the  sudden  decline  and  disastrous  fall  of  a  king- 
dom which  still  possessed  such  men  as  Totila  and  Teja?* 
The  Lombard  invasion  came  next,  and  Northern  Italy  was 
easily  overrun  by  these  new  barbarians,  and  its  provinces 
portioned  out  among  them.  But  the  native  race,  and  old, 
deep-rooted  institutions  of  the  peninsula  took  refuge  in  the 
Exarchate,  and  in  the  cities  of  the  coast,  and  in  Rome  herself, 
with  her  restricted  territories ;  and  hence,  under  the  name  of 
the  Greek  emperors  first,  and  finally  in  their  own,  with  their 
bishops  and  the  pope  at  their  head,  kept  up  that  long  war  of 
alternate  aggression  and  defence  which  terminated  in  the 
overthrow  of  the  Lombards  and  the  consecration  of  the  tem- 
poral power  of  the  Holy  See. 

And  here  we  may  be  allowed  to  observe,  even  in  this  rapid 
sketch,  that  our  appreciation  of  the  true  spirit  of  all  the  sub- 
sequent history  of  Italy  will  depend  upon  the  patience  and 
candor  with  which  we  study  this  event,  f     If  the  pontiffs  of 

Italia,  were  Italian,  not  Roman.  There  are  some  very  excellent  hints 
upon  this  subject  in  Balbo's  Appunti  per  la  Storia  d"  Italia. 

*  The  conspiracy  is  not  proved,  but  is  more  than  probable.  Manso 
(Gesehichte  des  Ost  Gothischen  Reickes  in  ltalien)  very  justly  calls  Boethi- 
us's  testimony  in  his  own  cause  into  question;  and  Sartorius  in  his  Ver- 
such  fiber  die  Regierung  der  Ost  Gothen,  seems  to  have  seen  clearer  into 
the  real  cause  than  Manso.  Grotius,  too,  said  long  ago,  in  his  Prolegom. 
ad  Histor.  Gothorum, — ;'  Actum  ibi  non  de  religione,  quae  Boethio  satis 
Platonica  fuit,  sed  de  imperii  statu."  But  the  question  has  never  been 
fully  developed. 

t  One  view  of  this  question  is  given  by  Manzoni  in  his  Discorso  sopra 

19 


218  THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

this  period,  already  the  leaders  of  the  new  Roman  republic, 
were  actuated  by  no  higher  motive  than  the  ambition  of  en- 
larging their  territories,  they  acted  like  bad  Italians  and 
worse  ecclesiastics.  But  if  the  feeling  which  inspired  them 
was  a  truly  national  abhorrence  of  foreign  dominion,  if  in  the 
aggressions  of  Astolfo  and  Desiderius  they  were  chiefly  struck 
with  their  country's  perils,  and  those  which,  in  their  own  per- 
sons, menaced  not  so  much  their  temporal  privileges  as  the 
exercise  of  their  sublime  functions  as  heads  of  the  church,  they 
have  claims  to  the  highest  praise  for  their  energy,  their  per- 
severance, and  their  longanimity. 

But  the  Carlo vingian  invasion,  whether  we  consider  it  as  a 
crime  or  as  a  necessity,  was  still  in  many  respects  a  misfor- 
tune for  Italy,  and  chiefly  so  in  that  ill-advised  restoration  of 
the  Western  Empire,*  which,  by  conferring  upon  a  foreigner 
by  birth  and  feeling  the  prestige  of  the  Roman  name  and  an 
indefinite  supremacy,  opened  the  way  for  unfounded  preten- 
sions, and  never-ending  discussions,  and  arrogant  assertions 

alcuni  Punii  della  Storia  Longobarda.  Sismondi  did  not  study  it  with 
sufficient  care,  and  hence  the  incompleteness  of  his  first  volume.  Ma- 
chiavelli  has  summed  it  up  with  his  usual  concision  in  his  Storie  Floren- 
tine ;  and  Muratori  and  Giannone,  and  many  moderns,  agree  with  him. 
The  moral  of  all,  as  far  as  the  people  are  concerned,  is  given  in  that 
beautiful  chorus  of  the  Adelchi :  — 

"  Dagli  antri  muscosi,  dai  fori  cadenti 
Dai  solchi  bagnati  di  servo  sudor, 
Un  volgo  ignoto  si  desta  repente"  etc., 

and  particularly  the  closing  stanzas. 

*  See  the  eloquent  words  of  Botta,  speaking  of  Charles  V. :  —  "  Quegli 
di  governargli  per  non  so  quale  appicco  di  Romano  impero ;  1'  umano 
sangue  intanto  rendeva  tiepidi  e  fumanti  le  Italiche  terre."  Storia  d 
Italia,  L.  I.,  p.  113. 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  219 

of  right,  and  remorseless  persecutions,  and  wars  of  savage 
desolation,  and  all  that  train  of  woes  which  wasted  for  centu- 
ries the  fairest  portions  of  the  peninsula.  This  it  was  that 
gave  rise  to  the  war  of  the  investitures,  that  struggle  between 
brute  force  and  intellectual  supremacy,  which  must  sooner  or 
later  have  occurred,  under  some  form  or  other,  but  which  it 
would  have  been  far  better  for  poor  Italy  to  have  passed 
through  under  any  other  form  than  that.  The  league  of 
Lombardy,  too,  sprang  from  the  same  cause,  a  glorious  event 
in  itself,  and  a  glorious  period  of  civil  virtue,  but  terminating 
sadly  in  the  imperfect  peace  of  Constance,  which  shows  more 
than  anything  else  how  impossible  it  was  for  the  Italians,  with 
that  phantom  of  the  Roman  empire  before  them,  to  form  any 
definite  idea  of  true  national  independence.*  Still  the  strug- 
gle was  continued,  simplified  in  form,  but  envenomed  in  spirit, 
by  the  introduction  of  the  rallying  words  of  Guelph  and  Ghi- 
belline.  In  both  of  these  parties  there  was  doubtless  enough 
that  was  bad ;  but  of  the  two,  the  Guelph,  if  not  the  most  vir- 
tuous, was  decidedly  the  most  national,  for  the  triumph  of  the 
pope  would  necessarily  have  led  to  the  subversion  of  all 
foreign  rule  and  prepared  the  way  for  freedom  by  independ- 
ence. But  freedom  was  won  before  independence  had  been 
secured,  and  was  therefore  incomplete  in  its  development  and 
unequal  in  its  results,  and  early  lost  amid  faction  and  usurpa- 
tion and  crime. 

At  length,  towards  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the 
period  in  which  this  long-cherished  hope  was  to  be  realized 

*  And  shows,  too,  how  incompetent  a  good  pope  is  to  make  a  political 

leader. 


220  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

seemed  to  be  drawing  nigh.  The  throne  of  Naples  was  filled 
by  an  independent  sovereign ;  at  Rome,  the  pope  enjoyed  the 
uncontrolled  exercise  of  his  temporal  as  well  as  his  spiritual 
supremacy;  Milan  was  governed  by  a  duke  of  her  own; 
and  most  of  the  smaller  states  by  native  princes  or  rulers  of 
their  own  choice ;  and  all  were  bound  together  by  that  well- 
contrived  balance  of  power,  which  constitutes  the  only  true 
political  glory  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent.  But  the  views  of 
this  selfish  man,  like  those  of  a  king  of  our  own  days,  who  also 
was  called  to  a  glorious  destiny  which  he  refused  to  fulfil 
were  bounded  by  personal  interest  and  family  ambition ;  and 
dearly  did  his  country  pay  for  his  crime,  and  bitterly  did  his 
family  atone  for  his  shameless  abuse  of  the  most  sacred  of 
trusts.  At  his  death,  the  balance,  for  want  of  a  proper  foun- 
dation, was  lost.  Italy  became  the  battle-field  of  Europe ; 
and  wThen  the  contest  ended,  Naples,  from  an  independent 
kingdom,  had  sunk  down  to  a  viceroyalty ;  Lombardy,  under 
the  baneful  pretext  of  imperial  supremacy,  had  been  converted 
into  a  foreign  province ;  Tuscany  into  a  duchy ;  and  the  whole 
peninsula,  with  the  exception  of  her  four  republics,  had  been 
parcelled  out  in  the  manner  most  accordant  with  the  principle 
of  absolute  government. 

But  there  were  some  glorious  moments  for  Italy  during  this 
protracted  struggle,  in  which  she  had,  been  more  than  once 
upon  the  point  of  grasping  her  long-contested  prize.  The 
idea  of  independence  became  clearer  and  more  complete,  and 
assumed  a  more  definite  form  in  the  minds  of  her  statesmen. 
It  was  this  that  inspired  the  league  of  Cambrai*  and  the  Holy 

*  Directed  against  Venice  in  order  to  force  her  to  league  with  the 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  221 

League,  and  formed  the  last  wish  which,  in  the  delirium  of 
the  death-struggle,  burst  from  the  lips  of  that  most  Italian  of 
pontiffs,  Julius  II.*  How  deeply  rooted  it  was  in  the  hearts 
of  her  public  men  may  be  seen  in  the  closing  chapter  of 
Machiavelli's  much  calumniated  Prince  ;t  and  its  vivifying 
and  exalting  influence  is  shown  in  Michael  Angelo,  and  Ra- 
phael, and  Ariosto,  and  that  wonderful  revival  of  art  and  lit- 
erature and  every  form  of  intellectual  exertion  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  which  was  owing  far  more  to  this  reopening  of  the 
field  of  noble  action  than  to  the  protection  of  petty  dukes  and 
voluptuous  pontiffs. 

A  long  period  of  debasement  and  corruption  followed,  as 
well  it  might,  when,  to  all  but  those  who  know  how  to  hope 
and  believe  firmly,  the  chances  of  independence  seemed  lost 
forever ;  a  period  stigmatized  in  Italian  annals,  and  held  up 
to  abhorrence,  as  the  degraded  "  Secento."  Meanwhile,  the 
house  of  Savoy,  which  had  won  back  its  inheritance  at  the 
battle  of  St.  Quentin,  was  firmly  consolidating  its  power,  and 
preparing  for  a  more  decisive  part  in  the  first  general  struggle. 
The  war  of  the  Spanish  succession  supplied  the  pretext  and 
the  occasion,  and  the  aggrandizement  of  this  favored  family 
seemed  to  keep  pace  with  the  progress  of  Italy  towards  inde- 
pendence. For  when  Naples  became  once  more  an  Italian 
kingdom,  and  Tuscany  received  the  confirmation  of  her  inde- 
pendence, Sardinia  was  politically  reunited  to  the  peninsula, 

other  Italian  powers  for  the  liberation  of  Italy  from  the  "  barbarians." 
What  a  subject  for  the  historian  that  reign  of  Julius  offers ! 

*  "  Fuori  barbari." 

t  Esortazione  a  liberare  Italia  da1  barbari ;  —  one  of  the  noblest  speci- 
mens of  patriotic  eloquence  in  any  language,  ancient  or  modern. 

19* 


222  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

and  gave  her  name  to  the  new  kingdom  which  was  henceforth 
to  govern  Piedmont  and  a  portion  of  the  Milanese,  and  to  be- 
come the  natural  guardian  of  the  interests  of  Italy. 

And  soon  there  was  a  general  awakening  throughout  Italy, 
a  filial  return  to  the  glories  of  her  first  revival,  a  renewal  of 
hopes  and  aspirations  long  forgotten.  And  with  it  there  was 
an  earnestness  of  thought,  a  serious  preparation,  a  severe  in- 
inquiry  into  the  cause  of  past  errors  and  present  corruption, 
which  seemed  to  promise  more  than  ordinary  results  for  any 
new  effort.  Muratori  had  been  collecting  the  documents  of 
her  mediaeval  history,  and  discussing  all  its  complex  questions 
with  a  sagacity  and  sound  erudition  which  have  never  been 
surpassed.  A  little  before,  Vico  *  had  laid  the  foundation  of 
that  sublime  science  which,  reducing  the  whole  course  of  his- 
tory to  general  laws,  explains  its  obscurest  periods,  and  recon- 
ciles us  to  its  greatest  apparent  contradictions.  Already,  too, 
some  of  the  men  were  born,  who  were  to  apply  these  prolific 
truths  to  the  science  of  history  and  government,  and  prepare 
the  way  for  the  discussion  of  their  own  interests  by  that  of 
the  interests  of  all  mankind.  And  soon  after  came  Parini, 
holding  up  the  great  social  vice  to  unmitigated  scorn  in  his 
keen  and  bitter  satire,!  and  consecrating  some  of  the  holiest 
of  social  virtues  in  his  chastened  and  heart-born  odes ;  and 
Goldoni,  laying  bare  the  secrets  of  the  heart,  and  painting  life 

*  It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  two  such  men  as  Muratori  and  Vico 
should  have  been  contemporaries,  and  yet  have  exercised  so  little  influ- 
ence upon  one  another.  For  it  should  be  remembered  that  Muratori  was 
philosopher,  poet,  critic,  and  theologian,  as  well  as  historian,  and  had 
thus  more  points  of  contact  with  Vico  than  the  Annali,  the  Antiquitates, 
or  the  Rerum  Italicarum  Scriptores  could  offer. 

t  //  Giorno. 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

and  manners  as  they  were,  and  making  vice  so  contemptible 
and  virtue  so  lovely,  that  none  could  hesitate  in  their  choice ; 
and  Alfieri,  the  inflexible  foe  of  every  species  of  effeminacy, 
who  made  poetry  a  mission,  and  breathed  into  his  verse  the 
severe  elevation  of  his  own  nature.  Everywhere  there  was 
reform,  and  life,  and  action,  —  the  application  of  new  princi- 
ples, the  confirmation  and  wider  development  of  the  old. 
There  was  the  brilliant  reign  of  Charles  in  Naples,  and,  later, 
that  of  Ferdinand,  in  which  the  good-natured  indolence  of  the 
sovereign  was  turned  to  account  by  his  ministers  for  the  good 
of  his  people.*  And  in  Tuscany,  the  wonderful  reign  of 
Peter  Leopold,  and  the  enlightened  administration  of  Count 
Firmian  at  Milan,  and  Dutillot  at  Parma,  and  the  brilliant 
opening  of  Pius  VI.  at  Rome.  Then,  too,  there  was  that  na- 
tional conception  of  a  confederacy,  which  has  left  but  an  in- 
distinct trace  in  history,  but  which  shows  how  far  the  great 
question  of  independence  had  advanced.  Thus,  when  the 
French  Revolution  burst  upon  Italy,  it  found  her  well  onward, 
with  renewed  energies  and  a  firm  will,  in  the  path  of  reform, 
with  native  princes  on  all  her  thrones,  and  that  foreign  domin- 
ion, which  had  so  long  paralyzed  her  efforts,  reduced  to  the 
narrow  limits  of  the  Duchy  of  Milan. 

Still,  one  great  thing  was  wanting,  a  national  army ;  and 
this,  among  many  other  benefits,  the  French  Revolution  gave.f 

*  See  Colletta's  admirable  first  volume,  and  the  beautiful  chapter 
which  Botta  has  consecrated  to  this  subject  in  his  Storia  cf  Italia  dal  '89, 
and  the  passages  in  the  last  volume  of  his  continuation  of  Guicciardini ; 
for  no  foreigner  has  treated  this  subject  well ;  we  must  go  to  the  native 
writers. 

t  See  Sismondi's  Histoire  de  la  Renaissance  de  la  Liberty  en  Italie,  etc., 
closing  paragraphs. 

y^  0?  THP      * 


x<v 


1  I 


224  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

During  the  long  wars  of  the  Empire,  Italian  troops,  mingled 
with  those  of  France,  fought  upon  every  battle-field  of  Eu- 
rope; Italian  officers  worked  their  way  upward  at  the  sword's 
point,  and  won  their  decorations  and  titles  by  feats  of  gal- 
lant daring  or  a  display  of  superior  genius.  The  citizen  and 
the  peasant  were  trained  to  fight  side  by  side,  and  endure 
together  every  species  of  privation  and  fatigue.  Natives  of 
remote  districts  were  brought  together  under  the  same  ban- 
ner and  taught  to  look  upon  themselves  as  engaged  in  the 
same  cause  and  united  by  a  common  interest ;  and  the  whole 
nation  was  roused  to  the  cultivation  of  those  martial  virtues 
without  which  independence  is  but  an  insecure  and  transient 
blessing. 

Thus  while  the  treaty  of  Vienna  left  Austria  more  power 
in  Italy  than  she  had  ever  had  before,  it  left  the  Italians  far 
greater  means  of  effectual  resistance  than  they  had  possessed 
for  centuries.  Their  territories  were  more  compact,  their  com- 
munications better  organized;  and  five  millions  and  a  half 
among  them  had  been  trained,  during  upwards  of  four- 
teen years,  to  the  exercise  of  the  highest  civil  and  political 
rights. 

But  the  moment  was  passed,  and  again  the  opportunity 
seemed  deferred  to  some  indefinite  period.  For  when  the 
sovereigns  returned  from  their  long  exile,  it  was  not  with  that 
expansive  joy  which  the  sight  of  a  home  you  had  hardly  dared 
to  dream  of  seeing  again  awakens  in  sympathetic  hearts,  but 
with  the  bitterness  of  mortified  pride,  and  the  resolve,  that, 
cost  what  it  might,  they  would  never  more  expose  themselves 
to  such  deep  humiliation.     Therefore  they  resumed  with  jeal- 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  225 

ous  tenacity  their  ancient  privileges,  revived  all  their  obso- 
lete pretensions,  declaring  from  the  beginning  an  implacable 
war  against  every  thing  which  wore  the  semblance  of  reform, 
and  placing  themselves  in  open  hostility  to  the  more  en- 
lightened portion  of  their  subjects.  But  the  progress  had 
been  too  great  to  be  checked  thus  easily,  and  unequal  as  the 
conditions  seemed,  the  people  were  as  ready  to  accept  the 
defiance  thus  madly  thrown  out  to  them  as  their  rulers  had 
been  to  give  it.  Thus  the  contest  began  anew.  The  secret 
alliance  of  princes  was  met  by  a  secret  alliance  of  the  people ; 
government  fought  with  its  trained  band  of  spies  and  police- 
men, the  people  with  secret  associations  and  the  dagger  of 
the  Carbonari.  There  was  doubtless  exaggeration  on  both 
sides,  and  a  great  deal  of  needless  suffering ;  there  was  con- 
stancy too,  and  resolute  daring  both  in  good  and  in  evil.  But 
in  a  struggle  like  this,  the  chances  of  success  are  always  in 
favor  of  established  government,  which  possesses  a  thousand 
means  of  acting  upon  the  timid  and  selfish  feelings  of  man- 
kind, while  their  opponents  have  but  one. 

Yet  it  was  a  glorious  circumstance  for  Italy,  that  during 
this  period  of  trial,  so  many  of  her  brightest  names  in  litera- 
ture and  in  science  were  found  in  the  list  of  the  suspected. 
Of  some  of  these  the  story  is  well  known,  the  victims  of  the 
Piombi  and  the  Spielberg ;  men,  the  current  of  whose  lives  was 
checked  in  mid  career,  nor  suffered  to  flow  again,  till  age  had 
benumbed  it3  energies,  and  long-suffering  consumed  its  vi- 
tality. But  how  many  others  are  there,  who  suffered  like 
them,  but  whose  lessons  of  endurance  and  fortitude  are  lost 
to  the  world  for  want  of  some  record  like  that  matchless 


226  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

volume  of  Pellico,  so  eloquent  in  its  simplicity,  so  powerful 
in  its  gentleness,  so  thrilling  in  its  calm  pictures  of  pain  and 
humiliation  and  sorrow !  And  how  little,  too,  we  know  of 
those  who  lived  and  those  who  died  in  exile ;  and  of  those  no 
less  worthy  of  admiration,  who  braved  all  the  annoyances  and 
vexations  of  petty  tyranny  and  daily  persecution,  and  the  still 
greater  danger  of  the  dungeon  or  the  scaffold,  that  they  might 
remain  at  home  and  foster  there  the  virtues  by  which  their 
country  was  one  day  to  be  restored  to  her  place  among  the 
nations  !  Thus  the  tenacious  will,  the  indomitable  resolution, 
remained  unchanged ;  but  the  battle  was  lost  once  more,  be- 
cause the  struggle  for  freedom  had  preceded  the  struggle  for 
independence. 

And  now  what  are  the  chances,  what  the  hopes,  of  Italy  ? 
Why  should  we  believe,  that,  after  so  many  errors,  she  will 
err  no  more  ?  What  is  there  in  her  present  condition  to  jus- 
tify the  trust,  that  the  causes  which  have  hitherto  prevented 
her  success  are  not  inherent  defects  of  national  character, 
rather  than  the  natural  results  of  temporary  circumstances  ? 

First,  there  are  circumstances  in  her  division  of  territory 
far  more  favorable  to  independence  than  those  which  existed 
before.  The  kingdom  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  with  its  eight  mil- 
lions of  inhabitants,  occupies  the  same  position  in  the  south  ; 
andt  he  Papal  territories,  with  their  two  million  seven  hun- 
dred thousand,  still  extend,  as  before  from  the  Mediterranean 
to  the  Adriatic.  But  Tuscany  has  just  been  rounded  off  on 
the  northwest  by  the  accession  of  Lucca,  and  had  already 
been  strengthened  by  several  small  accessions  on  the  opposite 
frontier.     Piedmont  has  obtained  a  seaport  in  Genoa,  and 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  227 

Venice  is  preparing,  by  its  union  with  Lombardy  under  a  for- 
eign dominion,  for  a  closer  union  and  more  harmonious  action, 
when  the  moment  shall  have  arrived  for  becoming,  with  Lom- 
bardy, a  part  of  a  native  and  independent  sovereignty. 

Then,  too,  the  communications  between  separate  states  and 
different  parts  of  the  same  state  are  daily  becoming  surer  and 
more  rapid.  Venice  is  united  with  the  interior  of  Lombardy 
by  a  railroad,  and  with  Ancona  by  steam.  Post-roads  of  unsur- 
passed beauty  traverse  the  valley  of  the  Po  in  every  direction, 
and  stretch  along  the  narrow  strip  that  skirts  the  Adriatic. 
Florence,  and  through  her  the  heart  of  Tuscany,  is  brought 
within  two  hours  of  the  sea.  And  soon  a  road  will  run  down 
through  the  Maremmas,  and  unite  the  seaport  of  Tuscany  with 
the  seaport  of  Rome,  and  Rome  herself  with  the  sea,  and  then, 
holding  its  course  southward  along  the  eastern  or  western  edge 
of  the  Campagna,  bring  you  out  in  a  few  hours  upon  that 
lovely  bay  of  Naples.* 

And  with  this  increased  communication  there  is  an  increase 
of  kindly  feeling,  a  gradual  wearing  down  of  prejudices.  For 
as  the  inhabitants  of  different  districts  and  men  of  different 
pursuits  come  to  see  more  of  one  another,  they  come  to  judge 
one  another  more  justly,  and  see  things  as  they  really  are. 
Nothing  nourishes  prejudice  like  being  always  in  the  same 
place,  or  narrows  the  mind  like  always  bounding  the  view  by 
the  same  horizon.     Some  men  look  abroad  through  books, 

*  We  believe  that  the  road  between  Venice  and  Milan  is  finished ; 
others,  too,  will  soon  be  opened  in  the  valley  of  the  Po,  and  along  the 
eastern  coast.  That  through  the  Maremmas  was  proposed  many  years 
ago  by  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  but  rejected  by  the  late  Pope, 
whose  prejudices  upon  this  subject  were  insuperable. 


228  THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

and  their  minds  expand  as  they  look ;  but  there  are  many, 
and  many  constant  readers  too,  to  whom  the  knowledge  of 
books  is  as  a  dead  letter,  and  knowledge,  to  say  nothing  of 
"wisdom,  is  through  this  entrance  quite  shut  out."  And 
there  are  many  who  never  believe  any  thing  which  they  can- 
not see,  although  they  are  perfectly  ready  to  accept  any  result 
of  their  own  observation.  Those  who  are  accustomed  to  ac- 
qure  knowledge  through  books  are  not  always  aware  how 
difficult  it  is  for  an  untrained  mind  to  give  the  ideas  received 
through  this  unwonted  medium  that  degree  of  distinctness 
which  is  essential  to  conviction.  There  is  something  vague  and 
indistinct  in  the  written  description,  like  a  landscape  through 
a  haze ;  something  which,  try  they  never  so  hard,  eludes  their 
grasp,  and  they  have  no  faith  in  it.  But  let  them  once  come 
where  they  can  lay  their  hand  upon  it  and  see  it  with  their 
own  eyes,  and  they  become  as  tenacious  in  their  belief  as  they 
were  before  in  their  incredulity. 

Thus,  with  these  new  facilities  for  communication,  the  peas- 
ant, who  had  hardly  ventured  beyond  his  native  valley  more 
than  once  or  twice  in  his  life,  now  comes  down  to  the  coast 
with  the  fruit  of  his  little  field,  and  sees  with  admiring  eyes 
the  wealth  of  cities,  and  looks  out  upon  the  sea,  where  so  large 
a  portion  of  it  is  won ;  and  when  he  carries  back,  in  return 
for  what  he  had  earned  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  something 
which  others  have  been  toiling  to  earn  with  labor  which  he 
can  now  estimate  more  justly,  he  learns  to  feel  how  all  the 
forms  of  industry  run  into  one  another,  and  how  close  the 
ties  are  by  which  mankind  are  bound  together.  And  when 
the  careworn  citizen  passes  from  the  crowded  mart  to  the 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  229 

depth  of  some  quiet  valley,  and  feels  his  feverish  pulse  beat  ' 
more  calmly  under  the  soothing  influences  of  nature,  must 
not  he,  too,  feel  that  there  is  something  in  life  besides  its  en- 
thralling cares,  something  worth  living  for,  besides  power  and 
gold  ?  And  let  it  not  be  said  that  this  is  not  practical,  mere 
idle  dreaming  and  declamation,  and  that  a  holiday  more  or 
less,  and  the  choice  of  a  place  to  pass  it  in,  have  nothing  to* 
do  with  the  graver  concerns  of  life ;  for  all  soothing  influ- 
ences are  healing  to  the  careworn  mind,  and  whatever  turns 
thought  inward,  purifies  and  strengthens  and  elevates  the 
soul. 

Yet  much  is  still  wanting,  and  must  ever  be,  to  a  perfect 
blending  of  interest  and  feeling.  There  is  so  much  in  history 
to  preserve  the  memory  of  old  enmities  and  dissensions ;  and 
nations,  like  individuals,  live  so  much  under  the  influence 
of  the  past.  There  is  that  difference  of  dialect,  which  makes 
the  Neapolitan  almost  as  great  a  stranger  in  the  streets  of 
Milan  as  of  Paris,  and  gives  an  unfamiliar  sound  even  to 
the  words  of  their  common  language.  There  is  a  distinction 
of  race,*  too,  sufficient  to  preserve  in  complexion  and  feature, 
the  traces  of  an  original  difference  of  origin ;  and  however 
quick  and  excitable  a  Lombard  may  appear  to  us,  he  seems 
placid  and  calm  in  a  circle  of  Neapolitans.f     The  elements 


*  The  works  of  the  two  Thierrys  have  been  one  of  the  chief  causes  of 
the  interest  now  felt  in  this  subject.  There  is  an  admirable  letter  to  one 
of  them  upon  it  (we  forget  which,)  which  was  republished  by  Cantu  in 
his  Documenti. 

t  We  remember,  as  an  instance  of  this,  a  paragraph  in  a  Neapolitan 
journal  upon  a  literary  friend  of  ours  from  Milan,  who  was  on  a  visit  to 


230  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

of  union  are  abundant,  but  those  of  fusion  must  ever  remain 
insufficient. 

Nor  is  this  to  be  regretted.  Centralization  is  one  of  the 
banes  of  modern  civilization.  But  Italian  civilization  has 
ever  been  distinguished  by  its  variety,  and  the  astonishing 
activity  of  the  most  brilliant  period  of  Italian  history  was  in 
a  great  measure  owing  to  that  parcelling  out  of  her  territory 
into  independent  states,  which  has  so  often  been  lamented  as 
the  source  of  all  her  calamities.  For  thus  the  fields  of  action 
were  multiplied,  although  each  individual  field  was  contract- 
ed. There  were  several  courts  instead  of  one,  and  republics 
differing  widely  in  their  policy  and  character  both  from  one 
another,  and  from  the  little  duchies  and  principalities  amid 
which  they  lay.  Hence,  in  a  great  measure,  the  richness  and 
variety  of  Italian  literature,  and,  in  some  degree,  of  Italian  art. 
Almost  every  state  offers  abundant  materials  for  a  literary 
and  artistical  history  of  its  own.  What  a  difference  between 
the  glowing  school  of  Venetian  art,  and  the  severe  grandeur 
of  the  Roman,  —  between  the  gilded  palaces  of  Genoa,  and 
the  stern  simplicity  of  Florence !  And  yet  there  was  a  bond 
of  national  feeling  uniting  them  all,  even  in  the  midst  of  their 
divisions.  Titian  painted  with  the  feeling  that  his  works 
would  one  day  hang  side  by  side  with  those  of  Raphael ;  and 
Ariosto,  amid  the  crowd  that  press  forward  to  meet  him  in  his 
hour  of  triumph,  sees  Lombard  and  Tuscan  and  Roman  mingling 


Naples.  Even  in  Rome  he  passed  for  an  exceedingly  animated  talker, 
and  the  Romans  laugh  at  us  for  our  inflexible  features  and  motionless 
hands;  yet  the  Neapolitan  journalist  was  struck  with  his  calm,  collected 
manner,  and  praised  his  "  placidi  ragionamenti." 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  231 

together,  and  none  whom  he  longed  more  to  see  than  the 
Neapolitan  Sannazaro.* 

And  this  feeling  is  stronger  now  than  it  ever  was  be- 
fore, and  must  necessarily,  from  its  very  nature,  become 
stronger  still.  For  it  is  in  the  essence  of  sound  national 
feeling  to  grow  by  the  efforts  made  to  suppress  it,  if  there  be 
only  some  few  left  to  foster  it  as  they  ought.  And  this  is 
the  writer's  task,  the  mission  of  the  poet,  the  orator,  and  the 
historian ;  a  noble  mission,  fraught  with  sacrifice  and  peril, 
calling  for  self-denial  and  forbearance,  and  such  faith  as  only 
noble  minds  possess,  but  bringing  with  it  that  reward  of  noble 
minds  which  gives  a  charm  to  danger,  and  makes  suffering 
sweet.  In  this  respect,  there  is  something  peculiarly  healthy 
in  the  present  tone  of  Italian  literature.  Its  writers  seem  to 
feel  that  they  have  no  common  duty  to  perform,  and  are  pre- 
pared to  perform  it  manfully.  They  seek  their  inspiration  in 
national  sources,  and  in  those  pure  springs  which  lie  among 
the  higher  regions  of  thought.  This  imparts  to  their  writings 
an  elevation  of  tone  and  a  directness  of  purpose  which  give 


*  "  Colui  che  con  lor  viene  e  da'  piu  degni 
Ha  tanto  onor,  mai  piu  non  conobb'  io : 
Ma  se  me  ne  fur  dati  veri  segni 
E 1'  uora  che  di  veder  tanto  desio. 
Giacobo  Sannazar  che  alle  Camene 
Lasciar  fa  i  monti,  ed  abitar  le  arene." 

There  is  a  passage  in  one  of  the  letters  of  Machiavelli  (to  Franc.  Vetto- 
ri,  if  our  memory  serves  us  aright,)  which  shows  how  Ariosto's  contem- 
poraries prized  a  place  in  this  catalogue.  Machiavelli  sends  his  regards 
to  Ariosto,  but  hints  to  his  friend  that  he  had  expected  to  fin  1  his  own 
name  there.  He  was  right,  for  we  need  the  praise  of  those  we  live  with; 
yet,  of  all  the  names  in  that  list,  how  few  are  there  that  any  but  the  an- 
tiquarian remembers,  while  Machiavelli's,  like  that  of  Ariosto,  is  as  fresh 
as  if  he  had  died  but  yesterday ! 


232  THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

them  more  importance  than  usually  belongs  to  works  of  mere 
literature.  Men  writing  for  their  country  have  a  very  differ- 
ent feeling  from  those  who  are  thinking  of  nothing  but  their 
own  glory.  There  is  something  of  the  feeling  of  the  battle- 
field about  it,  something  of  its  stern  resolve  and  self-forget- 
fulness.  The  action  of  the  mind  is  always  freer  and  more 
efficient,  for  the  nobleness  of  the  aim  leaves  less  play  for  those 
selfish  passions  which,  resist  we  ever  so  firmly,  will  always 
come  to  mingle  themselves  more  or  less  with  even  our  best 
motives,  and  remind  us  that  we  are  men.  There  is  something 
very  noble,  surely,  in  abstract  truth,  and  in  those  speculations 
which  bring  us  into  immediate  relation  with  the  general  inter- 
ests of  humanity.  They  expand  and  elevate  the  mind,  and 
fill  it  with  those  grand  conceptions  and  sublime  emotions 
which  seem  to  be  a  kind  of  foretaste  of  what  it  may  hope  for 
when  freed  from  the  shackles  of  sense.  But  duty,  although 
it  looks  forward  to  another  world,  acts  in  this,  and  the  end  of 
its  action  is  to  make  this  world  what  it  ought  to  be.  Mean- 
while, it  takes  the  world  as  it  is,  with  all  its  faults,  knowing 
that  many  of  them  are  too  nearly  allied  to  virtue  to  be  rooted 
out  rudely,  and  that  real  progress  is  a  gradual  advancement 
and  a  succession  of  connected  ameliorations.  Thus,  to  make 
these  sure,  giving  them  their  proper  starting-point,  and  so 
directing  them  that  every  step  shall  necessarily  lead  to  some 
new  and  prolific  development,  is  its  highest  aim ;  nor  can  man 
ever  attain  it  by  running  too  far  in  advance,  and  losing  sight 
of  those  realities  which  are  his  only  medium  of  efficient 
communication  with  his  fellow-men.  And  we  believe  that 
that  writer  will  seldom  leave  any  enduring  trace  behind  him, 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  266 

or  even  arrive  at  the  truth,  whose  interest  in  the  general  pro- 
gress of  society  does  not  begin  with  devotion  to  his  own 
country.  Life  in  its  healthy  state  is  not  a  war  with  passion, 
but  an  effort  to  direct  it  to  its  legitimate  objects;  and  the 
passion  of  patriotism,  guided  by  a  sound  judgment  and  ex- 
panded by  an  enlarged  view  of  human  nature,  is  the  surest 
warrant  of  the  progress  of  humanity  towards  the  fulfilment  of 
its  great  mission. 

And  such  we  believe  to  have  been  the  feeling  of  those 
writers  who  have  given  the  contemporary  literature  of  Italy 
its  coloring.  It  was  certainly  that  of  Niccolini,*  in  those 
admirable  tragedies,  in  which  the  sentiments  of  an  elevated 
philosophy  are  combined  with  the  inspirations  of  the  purest 
patriotism,  and  no  less  so  in  his  chaste  and  vigorous  prose. 
In  Manzoni  there  is  less  of  it  than  we  could  wish,  for  how 

*  Niccolini  is  less  known  among  us  than  he  deserves  to  be.  What 
can  be  more  touchingly  beautiful,  in  the  mouth  of  an  Italian,  than  these 
lines  from  his  Giovanni  da  Procida :  — 

"  Io  vorrei  che  stendesser  le  nubi 
Sull'  Italia  un  mestissimo  velo ; 
Perche  tanto  sorriso  di  cielo 
Sulla  terra  del  vile  dolor  1 " 

And  then  what  more  energetically  indignant  than  the  next  verse :  — * 

"  La  natura  si  desta  repente ; 
Lunghi  sonni  il  mortale  vi  dorme ; 
E  qual  fango  mutato  dall'  orme 
Sempre  nuove  d'  un  pie  vincitor?" 

We  do  not  accuse  Manzoni  of  being  a  bad  citizen,  but  we  believe  it  to 
be  the  duty  of  a  man  so  rarely  endowed  to  do  more  than  he  has  done. 
D'  Azeglio  is  chiefly  known  in  this  country  by  his  Ettore  Fieramosca,  the 
first  and  far  from  the  best  of  his  works.  He  is  a  great  painter,  as  well 
as  an  eloquent  writer.  Of  Gioberti  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  more 
fully  hereafter. 

20* 


234  THE   HOPES    OP   ITALY. 

precious  would  not  a  few  national  lyrics  have  been  from  the 
same  pure  source  which  inspired  the  Inni  sacri  I  But  how 
sound  and  just  is  it  in  Cantu ;  how  vivid  in  D'  Azeglio ;  how 
eloquent  in  the  profound  and  glowing  pages  of  Gioberti ! 

There  is  an  error,  too,  of  their  predecessors,  a  very  natural 
one  it  is  true,  which  these  writers  have  corrected ;  the  error, 
we  mean,  of  dwelling  too  closely  upon  the  memory  of  past 
glories,  and  making  them  serve  as  a  palliation,  if  not  a  com- 
pensation, for  present  debasement.  It  was  a  common  thing 
among  writers  of  ordinary  minds,  and  some  also  who  should 
have  known  better,  to  reverse  the  healthy  order  of  things,  and 
give  a  practical  contradiction  to  Dante's  beautiful  sentence, 

"  Nessun  maggior  dolore 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria," 

For  in  their  country's  misery  they  seemed  to  think  only  of 
her  glorious  past,  when  their  minds  should  have  been  bent 
firmly  upon  her  possible  future.  A  little  volume  was  once 
given  us  by  a  patriot  of  this  class,  containing  a  list  of  all  the 
inventions  and  discoveries  which  could  by  any  way,  however 
circuitous,  be  traced  to  an  Italian  origin.  It  was  a  curious 
book,  displaying  a  great  deal  of  patient  research  and  laborious 
erudition ;  but  we  could  not  help  saying  to  our  friend,  "  What, 
after  all,  is  this  worth  at  this  moment  ?  It  merely  shows  what 
you  have  been,  not  how  you  can  become  so  again."  "  I,  too," 
said  one  day  a  writer  of  a  very  different  class,  "  have  fallen 
into  this  error  in  my  earlier  works ;  but  thank  God,  I  found 
it  out  in  time,  and  never  will  do  so  again." 

It  may  be  doubted,  however,  whether  the  Italians  did  more 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  235 

to  form  this  false  mode  of  thought,  than  foreigners  to  confirm 
them  in  it.  Travellers  in  Italy  were  necessarily  struck  with 
the  contrast  between  what  they  saw  and  the  traces  of  what 
had  been.  Those  half-tenanted  palaces,  those  solitary  streets, 
those  crumbling  villas,  with  their  entangled  walks,  and  statues 
green  with  moss  and  half-buried  amid  the  untrained  shrub- 
bery, and  their  fountains  choked  up  with  leaves  and  fragments 
of  the  marble  borders,  within  whose  chiselled  rim  the  waters 
had  once  leaped  up  with  their  glad  voices  to  sparkle  in  the 
sunlight,  were  all  so  many  monuments  on  which  the  praises 
of  the  dead  were  mingled  with  bitter  reproaches  against  the 
living.  Very  few  remained  long  enough  to  see  what  the  real 
character  of  the  modern  Italians  was,  or  how  far  they  had 
preserved  the  spirit  of  their  ancestors.*  Fewer  still  sought 
deep  enough  in  the  general  laws  of  history  for  the  causes  of  a 
decay,  which  seemed  so  deep-rooted,  and  withal  so  natural. 
And  thus  the  result  was  accepted  as  undeniable,  and  the  Ital- 
ians were  told,  what  so  many  of  them  were  ready  to  believe, 
that  all  the  little  honor  they  could  still  hope  to  reap  was  in 
recounting  the  glories  of  the  past. 

Still,  this  error  was  not  unmingled  with  good.  This  close 
study  of  the  days  of  their  prosperity  produced  some  of  the 
advantages  which  republics,  according  to  Machiavelli,f  may 

*  And  yet  Guidi  told  them  long  ago,  — 

H  Ma  pur  non  han  le  neghittose  cure 
Tanto  al  Tarpeo  nemiche 
Spento  1!  inclito  seme 
Delle  grand'  alme  antiche. 
Sorgere  in  ogni  etate 
Fuor  da  queste  ruine 
Qualche  spirto  real  sempre  si  scorse." 

t  Discorsi  sulla  -prima  Decao  di  Tito  Livio. 


236  THE   HOPES    OF   ITAXY. 

derive  from  being  recalled  from  time  to  time  towards  the 
principles  of  their  origin.  Common  minds  were  satisfied  with 
the  fact,  but  those  of  a  more  earnest  and  thoughtful  cast  could 
not  accept  it  without  inquiring  how  it  had  been  brought  about, 
and  why  a  nation,  which  had  been  at  the  head  of  civilization 
during  its  darkest  trials,  should  have  been  left  so  far  behind  in 
some  of  its  most  precious  results,  now  that  the  trial  was  over. 
And  from  this  inquiry  have  resulted  those  profound  convic- 
tions which  are  preparing  the  way  for  a  triumph  purer  and 
nobler  than  those  of  her  brightest  days. 

In  illustration  of  the  earnest  character  of  the  contemporary 
literature  of  Italy,  we  would  cite  Cantu's  Universal  History, 
in  which  the  whole  history  of  mankind,  from  the  creation  to 
our  own  days,  is  recorded  in  a  clear  and  animated  narrative, 
while  their  manners  and  customs  are  painted  with  rare  intel- 
ligence, and  the  progress  of  each  race,  and  the  concurrent 
progress  of  all,  towards  the  fulfilment  of  the  great  end  of  their 
being  are  traced  with  a  firm  and  comprehensive  philosophy 
worthy  of  a  friend  of  Romagnosi  and  a  countryman  of  Vico ; 
and  Troya's  Italy  of  the  Middle  Ages,  which,  although  it  has 
not  come  fully  up  to  what  had  been  expected  of  it,  has  thrown 
so  much  light  upon  some  of  those  vital  questions  which  lie  at 
the  very  source  of  Italian  history ;  and  Gioberti  in  all  his 
writings,  but  more  especially  in  his  admirable  Primato,  and 
those  Prolegomena  which  recall  the  brightest  ages  of  firm  and 
masculine  eloquence ;  and  that  beautiful  volume  of  Balbo, 
which  we  have  taken  as  a  text-book  for  the  present  paper ;  and 
many  others,  too,  might  we  name,  if  our  plan  admitted  of  any- 
thing more  than  a  general  allusion. 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  237 

Whoever  reads  these  works  will  find  a  soberness  of  thought 
in  them,  which  nothing  but  profound  meditation  can  give ;  a 
patience  of  inquiry,  of  which  none  but  men  of  real  learning 
are  capable ;  a  depth  of  conviction,  which  the  strongest  minds 
alone  can  reach ;  and  in  most  of  them,  too,  an  enlightened 
philanthropy,  and  a  purity  and  singleness  of  purpose,  well 
suited  to  the  high  mission  which  their  authors  have  accepted 
so  nobly. 

We  would  not  fall  into  the  common  error  of  claiming  too 
much  for  literature ;  but  we  wish  also  to  avoid  the  not  uncom- 
mon one  of  allowing  too  little  for  literary  influences.  Lit- 
erature in  its  true  sense  is  the  most  accurate  expression  of 
the  highest  point  of  development  which  the  human  mind  has 
attained ;  and  in  saying  this,  we  employ  the  word  in  its  widest 
and  most  comprehensive  signification.*  Wherever  else  we 
look  for  the  criterion,  there  will  still  be  something  wanting. 
Science  is  but  one  of  the  many  forms  of  intellectual  exertion, 
and  art  is  another ;  and  society  itself  is,  from  its  very  nature, 
so  changeable,  that  it  seldom  leaves  any  durable  monuments 
but  such  as  literature  preserves.  But  in  literature  they  all 
combine,  science,  and  art,  and  social  refinement,  t  The  ob- 
servant mind  records  its  experience  in  written  language,  and 
the  overflowing  heart  seeks  relief  there  ;  the  past  is  brought 
back  to  instruct  us  and  to  charm ;  truths  to  which  the  unas- 
sisted mind  would  never  have  soared  are  made  clear  and  defi- 

*  It  is  thus  that  it  is  employed  by  Tiraboschi  in  his  gigantic  Storia 
delta  Letleratura  Italiana. 

t  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  somewhere  says,  that  not  a  step  had  been  made 
in  scientific  investigation  in  modern  Europe  until  after  the  revival  of 
letters. 


238  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

nite  to  the  intellectual  eye ;  and  all  that  is  beautiful  around 
us  and  within,  the  heart's  hidden  treasures  of  truth  and  love, 
our  mysterious  sympathies  with  inanimate  nature,  and  what- 
ever there  is  of  noble  in  man  and  enduring  in  his  works,  have 
no  adequate  expression  or  lasting  record,  but  in  some  one  of 
the  various  forms  of  literature. 

But  as  the  most  abstruse  principle  is,  if  true,  nothing  more 
than  a  remote  link  in  a  continuous  chain,  so  the  world  of 
thought  is  indissolubly  connected  with  the  world  of  fact,  of 
which  it  is  the  legitimate  and  ultimate  expression.  The  mind 
is  not  only  modified  by  what  it  sees,  but  derives  more  or  less 
of  its  efficiency  from  its  power  of  harmonizing  with  it.  And 
the  man  of  letters,  like  the  legislator  and  the  politician,  will 
find  all  his  labors  fruitless,  unless  he  begin  them  by  a  just 
appreciation  of  men  and  events.  Whatever  be  our  aim,  there 
must  be  a  starting-point,  and  we  can  never  shape  our  course 
aright  unless  we  know  that  point  thoroughly.  The  most  fan- 
ciful conceptions  of  poetry  are  but  a  combination  of  realities, 
and  the  views  which  are  supposed  to  distinguish  the  theorist 
from  the  practical  man,  are  but  an  enlarged  generalization  of 
facts.  Our  minds  are  as  much  affected  by  the  intellectual 
atmosphere  that  surrounds  them,  as  our  bodies  are  by  the  air 
that  we  breathe.  It  would  be  just  as  absurd  to  demand  vigor 
of  mind  and  soundness  of  thought  from  a  writer  of  an  ener- 
vated age,  as  to  ask  for  vigor  of  body  and  the  bloom  of  health, 
from  an  inhabitant  of  the  Pontine  marshes.  And  thus  mind 
becomes  the  standard  by  which  nations  should  be  judged,  and 
literature  is  the  criterion  of  mind.  But  in  studying  this  cri- 
terion, we  should  carefully  distinguish  the  spirit  from  the 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  239 

form,  and  not  suffer  ourselves  to  be  persuaded  that  the  one  is 
sound,  because  the  other  is  beautiful.  The  wild  peaks  of  the 
Apennines  and  the  deep  blue  of  the  Mediterranean  gird  in  the 
Pontine  marshes,  and  nowhere  does  the  grass  wave  more  lux- 
uriantly, or  the  trees  put  forth  a  lovelier  green,  than  in  the 
broad  meadows  which  its  polluted  atmosphere  has  made  house- 
less. But  there  stands  the  wretched  sentinel,  with  his  sallow 
cheeks,  his  feverish  eye,  and  wasting  form,  to  tell  you  what  a 
poison  he  is  imbibing  with  every  respiration.  If  we  would 
decide  rightly,  we  must  look  him  in  the  face,  and,  like  Cam- 
byses,  judge  the  country  by  its  inhabitants.* 

There  can  be  no  greater  misfortune  for  a  country  than  for 
her  men  of  letters  to  live  secluded  from  the  active  scenes  of 
life;  for  no  civilization  can  be  complete,  where  those  that 
think  move  not  in  concert  with  those  that  act.  Thus  when 
we  discover  some  great  defect  in  the  literature  of  a  particular 
age  or  country,  it  is  in  its  political  or  social  condition  that  we 
must  seek  for  the  cause ;  and  wherever  social  or  political  pro- 
gress is  checked,  we  may  look  for  a  corresponding  decay  in 
literature.  And  well  is  it  for  society  that  all  its  classes  must 
thus  move  on  together,  and  happy  are  mankind  that  the  great 
law  of  progress,  that  deep-rooted  and  ever  active  principle  of 
their  nature,  unites  them  all  in  one  common  bond  of  brother- 
hood. 

We  believe,  therefore,  that  one  of  the  surest  hopes  of  Italy 
may  be  drawn  from  the  present  state  of  her  literature.     At 

*  Kal  yup  Xiyovreg  ovdev  navovrai  oi  tiv&puTCOi  irepi  re  tuv  voarjpuv 
Xuptuv  Kal  tuv  vyuivuv  •  fiaprvpe^  de  Gatyelg  EKarepoig  avruv  Tzapiarav- 
rai,  ra  adfiara  Kal  to,  xpupara.     Cyropcedia,  I.  13. 


240  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

no  time  could  works  so  truly  national  have  circulated  so 
widely,  without  awakening  in  many  breasts  feelings  like  those 
which  inspired  them ;  but  they  now  fall  on  the  parched  earth 
like  heaven's  own  rain,  and  you  may  trace  their  course  from 
the  Alps  to  Lilybaeum,  in  purer  hopes,  and  firmer  resolve,  and 
stronger  and  more  united  endeavor. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  necessarily  seems  to  follow, 
that  there  must  have  been  a  corresponding  progress  in  the 
moral  and  social  condition  of  the  Italians.  And  this  we  be- 
lieve to  be  the  fact.  It  is  well  known  that  Parini's  Giorno 
was  an  accurate  picture  of  the  daily  life  of  the  young  nobles 
of  his  time.  But  were  another  Parini  to  arise,  he  would  find 
the  young  men  of  that  class,  some  in  the  army,  some  devoted 
to  letters,  others  engaged  in  the  management  of  their  estates ; 
many,  too  many,  still  thoughtless  and  idle,  and  ready  to  seek 
pleasure  wherever  it  may  be  found ;  yet  but  few  that  would 
dare  to  blazon  their  corruption  with  such  unveiled  effront- 
ery. This  is  equally  true  with  regard  to  many  of  Goldoni's 
comedies,  in  which  he  holds  up  to  ridicule  vices,  which  are 
now  generally  regarded  with  horror,  or  which,  if  they  still 
continue  to  exist,  are  carefully  concealed  from  the  public  eye. 
The  Oicisbeo  has  disappeared,  and  the  term  of  amicizia,  under 
which  the  violation  of  conjugal  faith  is  veiled,  shows  of  itself 
in  what  a  different  light  a  custom,  once  received  so  generally, 
is  now  viewed. 

The  character  of  Italian  mothers  is  improved.  They  are 
more  domestic  in  their  habits  and  feelings,  more  attached  to 
their  families,  firmer  and  more  cheerful  in  the  performance  of 
their  household  duties.     Their  daughters  are  more  frequently 


THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY.  241 

brought  up  under  their  own  eyes,  or,  if  sent  to  a  convent,  are 
sent  later  and  not  kept  there  so  long.  There  is  lesss  of  that 
abrupt  passage  from  the  seclusion  and  contracted  views  of  a 
nunnery,  to  the  intoxicating  gaieties  of  society,  and  the  grave 
responsibilities  of  a  wife  and  a  mother.  Their  education  has 
been  elevated  and  made  to  embrace  a  wider  range  of  subjects. 
Dancing  and  embroidery,  which  once  formed  almost  their 
sole  occupation,  are  now  taught  as  embellishments,  the  inno- 
cent recreation  of  hours  employed  less  usefully.  Reading, 
which  most  of  them  learned  imperfectly,  and  many  never 
learned  at  all,  is  taught,  not  as  a  simple  amusement,  but  as  a 
source  of  solid  instruction,  and  as  one  of  the  greatest  privileges 
accorded  to  human  beings  in  order  to  fit  them  for  the  cares 
and  dangers  and  duties  of  life.  And  when  we  consider  what 
female  influence  is,  how  large  a  portion  of  almost  every  man's 
life  is  passed  in  the  presence  of  mothers  and  sisters  and  wives, 
may  we  not  count  this,  too,  among  the  hopes  of  Italy  ? 

We  would  hardly  venture  to  assert  that  the  progress  in 
male  education  has  been  equally  great ;  for  here  the  action  of 
government  is  more  direct,  and  few  sovereigns  are  so  short- 
sighted as  not  to  understand,  that  the  boy's  impressions  be- 
come the  convictions  of  the  man.  Thus,  if  reforms  are  not 
always  repelled,  they  are  accepted  cautiously,  and  with  so 
sparing  a  hand,  as  rather  to  assimilate  the  new  with  the  old, 
than  to  inform  the  old  with  the  invigorating  freshness  of  the 
new.  They  come,  too,  at  long  intervals,  and  not  in  that  order 
of  philosophical  sequence,  without  which  they  can  neither  be 
lasting  nor  prolific.  The  colleges,  in  which  the  preparatory 
course  for  the  university  is  gone  through,  are  very  nearly 

21 


242  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

what  they  have  long  been,  nurseries  of  idleness  and  effemi- 
nacy. The  languages  are  taught  there  by  the  same  old 
method,  which  has  been  followed  for  centuries,  and  the  study 
of  them  fills  up  the  choicest  years  of  youth.  The  natural 
sciences,  if  not  systematically  avoided,  are  at  least  slurred 
over  so  negligently,  that  it  is  only  in  minds  singularly  favored, 
that  they  can  awaken  that  intelligent  curiosity  which  in  them- 
selves, they  are  so  well  calculated  to  excite.  Geography  is 
studied  with  equal  carelessness,  or  not  studied  at  all,  although 
one  of  the  most  accurate  of  living  geographers  is  an  Italian. 
History  is  confined  to  Greece  and  Home,  and  taught  merely 
as  a  series  of  events,  not  as  a  progressive  development  of 
ideas,  arising  directly  from  the  essence  of  human  nature,  and 
tending,  by  sure  though  unequal  steps,  to  the  accomplishment 
of  human  destiny.  And  the  object  of  the  whole  course,  from 
the  alphabet  to  the  diploma,  seems  to  be,  not  to  form  minds, 
but  to  plod  through  a  prescribed  routine.  To  this  general 
sketch  there  are  some  splendid  exceptions.  Few  men  have 
studied  education  as  a  science  with  so  rare  an  intelligence  as 
the  Abbe  Lambruschini,  and  certainly  none  have  ever  devoted 
themselves  from  purer  motives  to  its  practical  duties. 

Indeed,  education,  to  be  what  it  ought,  must  have  some 
higher  object  than  the  mere  acquisition  of  knowledge,  however 
important  this  may  be  in  itself.  It  is*  only  where  the  duties 
of  life  are  estimated  aright,  that  man  can  be  fitted  for  them 
properly.  A  firm  and  resolute  will  can  be  sustained  only  by 
an  object  enlarged  enough  to  occupy  its  energies.  And  as 
every  man's  faculties  were  given  him  in  order  that  he  might 
perform  bis  part  well,  so  the  very  fact  of  their  existence  im- 


THE    HOPES    OF   ITALY. 


243 


plies  the  right  of  cultivation,  and  imposes  upon  those  who  are 
intrusted  with  power,  the  obligation  of  employing  it  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  insure  to  every  one  the  full  enjoyment  of  that 
right.  But  to  do  this  would  be  to  acknowledge  the  right  of 
liberty,*  and  absolute  monarchs,  who  will  not  acknowledge  it, 
knowingly  pervert  man's  capability  of  receiving  instruction  to 
their  own  purposes.  They  fill  up  their  subjects'  time  without 
employing  it,  exercise  their  faculties  without  developing  them, 
teach  them  enough  to  enable  them  to  serve  as  instruments, 
but  not  as  actors,  —  to  obey  passively,  but  not  like  men  who 
have  a  purpose,  and  know  how  to  accomplish  it.  And  then, 
when  the  day  of  trial  comes,  they  are  surprised  to  find  what 
automatons  they  have  been  making,  and  how  despotism,  like 
every  other  crime,  begets  its  own  punishment. 

Of  the  universities  it  is  difficult  to  speak  collectively ;  and 
some  of  them  had  already  advanced  so  far,  in  the  second  half 
of  the  last  century,  that  hardly  anything  which  they  have 
done  in  this,  can  be  considered  as  progress.  Pavia  is  very 
far  from  being  what  it  was  in  the  time  of  Spallanzani  and 
Mascheroni ;  but  some  of  the  chairs  at  Pisa  are  filled  with 
great  ability,  and  Galluppi  is  the  professor  of  philosophy  at 
Naples.  Yet  every  professor  knows  that  he  holds  his  place 
from  a  government  which  watches  all  his  movements  jealously, 
and  will  take  it  from  him  at  the  slightest  indication  of  a  desire 
to  venture  beyond  the  limits  which  its  fears  have  prescribed. 

*  "  La  liberti  est  le  pouvoir  qui  appartient  a  i'homme  d'exercer  a  son 
grctoutes  ses  facultes;  elle  a  la  justice  pour  regie,  les  droits  d'autrui 
pour  bornes,  la  nature  pour  principe,  et  la  loi  pour  sauvegarde."  —  D6- 
duration  des  Droits  de  V Homme,  pre'sentie  par  Robespierre  a  la  Convention, 
Art.  IV. 


244  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

Their  lessons,  therefore,  can  seldom  have  that  spontaneous 
flow  which  gives  such  a  charm  to  the  oral  instructions  of  an 
eloquent  teacher.  The  danger  of  misconstruction  is  hovering 
over  them  continually,  and  the  labor  which  other  men  bestow 
upon  the  development  of  an  idea  they  are  often  obliged  to 
employ  in  guarding  it  against  too  full  an  interpretation  *  Yet, 
with  all  this,  there  are  calm,  devoted  men  among  them,  who 
feel  all  the  responsibilities  of  their  situation,  know  how  to 
estimate  its  dangers,  and,  keeping  their  way  firmly  through 
every  obstacle,  turn  for  consolation  and  hope  from  the  false 
judgments  of  contemporaries  who  know  but  a  part,  to  that 
unerring  posterity  which  sees  the  whole. 

Still,  whatever  the  character  of  individual  professors  may 
be,  the  university  course,  like  that  of  the  colleges,  must  of 
necessity  be  confined  more  or  less  rigorously  to  a  beaten  track. 
But  what  the  students  learn  of  themselves  has  a  very  different 
bearing.  In  their  class-rooms,  they  feel  as  men  always  do, 
when  united  in  some  common  pursuit,  what  a  cheering  strength 
there  is  in  union ;  and  in  the  retirement  of  their  own  cham- 
bers, they  learn  how  to  use  it  to  advantage.  They  are  free 
from  the  irksome  restraint  and  enervating  discipline  of  col- 
lege. They  can  walk,  and  ride,  and  move  in  the  open  air,  at 
will.  There  is  no  pedantic  pedagogue  to  watch  over  their 
sports,  or  marshal  them  forth  upon  their  daily  or  weekly  walk. 

*  A  language  less  copious  and  flexible  than  the  Italian  would,  under 
such  circumstances,  have  lost  all  its  energy;  and  perhaps  some  of  the 
defects  of  style,  and  a  certain  want  of  precision,  with  which  several  emi- 
nent Italian  writers  have  been  reproached,  must  be  attributed  in  a  great 
measure  to  this  cause ;  a  new  proof,  if  any  more  were  wanting,  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  attempt  to  judge  a  literature,  unless  you  are  familiar 
with  the  social  and  political  condition  of  the  country. 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  245 

There  are  libraries  at  their  command,  and  newspapers  to  tell 
them  at  least  something  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  world,  and 
friends  to  cheer  and  guide  them,  and,  above  all,  companions 
to  discuss  their  studies  with,  and  compare  their  progress.  And 
here  it  is  that  the  influence  of  literature  is  felt  more  directly, 
and  that  the  writer's  perilous  task  becomes  indeed  a  holy  mis^ 
sion.  These  are  the  readers  and  judges  to  whom  he  is  look- 
ing forward  from  the  retirement  of  his  closet,  with  the  hope 
of  a  juster  appreciation,  and  cautiously  choosing  out  the  seed 
which  he  is  compelled  to  sow  with  so  sparing  a  hand.  For, 
in  spite  of  censors  and  spies,  of  ecclesiastical  prohibitions  and 
political  watchfulness,  a  large  portion  of  the  new  works  are 
read  in  the  universities,  —  circulating  stealthily,  it  is  true,  to 
be  studied  by  lamp-light,  and  with  doors  locked  carefully,  — 
locked  as  if  thought  were  a  crime,  —  but  gradually  spreading 
their  truths  throughout  the  whole  peninsula,  and  awakening 
the  flame  of  enlightened  patriotism  in  the  breasts  of  those 
who,  when  the  day  of  action  comes,  will  be  men. 

But  an  entirely  new  feature  in  Italian  society  is  the  educa- 
tion of  the  lower  classes,  which  had  hitherto  been  mostly  con- 
fined to  the  catechism,  and  the  priest's  instruction  during  Lent. 
Now,  in  many  parts  of  Italy,  there  are  day-schools  for  all,  and 
night-schools  for  those  whose  poverty  compels  them  to  devote 
all  the  hours  of  daylight  to  labor.  And  there  are  men,  too, 
of  high  intellect  and  delicate  taste,  who  are  making  a  willing 
sacrifice  of  the  honor  they  might  win  in  more  congenial  walks 
of  literature,  in  order  to  write  books  and  edit  papers  for  arti^ 
sans  and  peasants.*     It  is  doubtless  a  misfortune  that  the  di- 

*  In  Rome  there  is  an  admirable  little  paper  of  this  kind,  V  Artigia- 
21* 


246  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

rection  of  these  schools  should,  in  some  places,  have  been 
exclusively  confided  to  a  particular  class,  and  not  always  to  the 
most  enlightened  members  of  that  class;  and  it  is  a  misfortune, 
also,  that  the  course  of  instruction  should  be  so  limited,  and 
the  text-books  often  chosen  so  badly.  But  still  it  is  a  great 
step,  and  if  these  long-neglected  beings  learn  little  more  than 
to  read  and  write,  and  perform  for  themselves  the  simple 
operations  of  arithmetic,  it  is  a  stepping-stone  secured  for  some 
advancement  yet  more  extensive.  The  beginning  has  been 
made,  the  principle  of  the  importance  of  popular  education 
has  been  accepted,  and  whatever  it  leads  to,  must  be  accepted 
with  it. 

The  education  of  the  people  would  naturally  lead  us  to  that 
of  the  middle  classes,  that  chief  reliance  of  a  nation  in  certain 
stages  of  its  progress  towards  liberty.  But  a  full  picture 
would  carry  us  too  far,  and  a  partial  sketch  would  hardly  con- 
vey any  definite  idea  of  this  difficult  subject.  The  existence 
of  the  middle  class,  however,  as  an  active  and  efficient  one,  is 
an  important  fact,  and  the  true  nature  of  their  double  relation 
to  the  aristocracy  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the  people  on  the 
other,  is  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  the  progress  of  political  lib- 
erty. For,  so  long  as  tradition  prevails  over  reason,  the  aris- 
tocracy will  command  all  those  whom  the  chances  of  birth 
have  placed  below  them.  But  with  the  development  of  the 
spirit  of  inquiry,  it  becomes  evident  that  the  real  efficiency  of 
the  state  lies  with  those  who  form  the  largest  proportion  of  its 
active  members.     And  as  every  social  truth,  however  sup- 

nello,  edited  by  Ottavio  Gigli,  who  proposes  publishing  a  series  of  ele- 
mentary scientific  and  historical  works  for  the  same  class  of  readers. 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  247 

pressed  for  a  time,  must  sooner  or  later  become  a  living  prin- 
ciple of  action,  the  middle  class  soon  passes  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  right  to  an  open  assertion  of  it.  Then  comes  the 
struggle  between  privilege  and  power,  the  truly  brilliant  period 
of  their  history ;  for  all  that  precedes  is  toil  and  humiliation, 
and  the  closing  scenes  are  too  often  defaced  by  selfishness  and 
arrogance  and  a  sordid  thirst  of  gain. 

Of  one  of  the  most  important  branches  of  this  class,  the 
curates  and  common  clergy,  it  is  difficult  to  speak  with  preci- 
sion. Wherever  the  church  offers  a  sure  road  to  fortune,  and 
a  probable  one  to  power,  many  will  be  found  ready  to  take 
orders,  as  they  would  take  their  diploma  in  medicine  or  law, 
not  from  devotion  to  the  duties  of  the  profession,  but  for  the 
chances  which  it  gives  of  advancement.  But  wherever  there 
is  a  religion  which  addresses  itself  to  the  nobler  principles  of 
our  nature,  and  opens  the  way  for  the  exercise  of  its  charac- 
teristic virtues,  many  will  be  found  to  whom  its  most  rigorous 
prohibitions  are  its  greatest  charm.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
but  that  there  are  many  ignorant  and  worthless  men  among 
the  clergy ;  and  it  is  no  less  true  that  there  are  many  among 
them  of  profound  learning  and  the  purest  piety.  And  great 
as  the  inducements  are  to  seek  in  the  church  an  easy  support 
rather  than  a  field  for  usefulness,  yet  we  doubt  whether  a  very 
great  proportion  even  of  those  who  enter  it  from  such  unwor- 
thy motives  can  go  through  the  daily  performance  of  its  duties, 
without  experiencing  sooner  or  later  in  their  own  hearts,  the 
purifying  influences  of  the  mission  which  they  had  assumed 
so  thoughtlessly.  The  heart  may  be  hardened  to  the  death- 
bed, and  the  eye  learn  to  look  on  want  and  sorrow  coldly ; 


248  THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

but  for  all  men  there  are  some  silent  hours  of  self-inquisition, 
when  none  but  those  who  are  utterly  corrupted  can  refrain 
from  asking  themselves  how  far  the  part  which  they  are 
playing  in  the  great  drama  of  life  corresponds  with  what  they 
have  undertaken,  and  what  they  have  the  means  to  do.  And 
in  a  profession  which  brings  so  constantly  before  the  mind  all 
the  more  serious  questions  of  life,  in  their  most  serious  form, 
these  hours  of  introspection  must  be  more  frequent,  and  their 
effects  more  lasting.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  stream 
which  should  flow  for  ever  over  beds  of  ore,  without  bearing 
away  some  grains  in  its  waters,  or  of  a  mind  that  could  dwell 
daily  on  the  truths  of  Christianity,  without  imbibing  somewhat 
of  their  chastening  spirit. 

The  clergy  of  every  class  generally  receive  their  education 
in  colleges  and  seminaries,  completing  their  course  at  the  uni- 
versity, and  thus  becoming  exposed,  to  a  certain  extent,  to 
the  injurious  influences  of  these  institutions.  But  they  are 
educated  with  a  direct  object  ever  present  to  their  minds, 
and  are  thus  in  a  measure  guarded  against  that  vague  and 
languid  tone  of  thought  which  must,  of  necessity,  prevail 
wherever  the  development  of  mind  is  sacrificed  to  the  mono- 
tonous labors  of  routine.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  with 
men  who  preserve  a  taste  for  literature  amid  all  the  engrossing 
cares  of  professional  life,  and  know  how,  without  pedantry  or 
affectation,  to  interweave  its  embellishments  with  their  most 
arid  discussions.  They  mix,  too,  in  the  world,  see  things  as 
they  are,  study  man  in  his  actions,  and  look  for  his  motives, 
where  alone  they  are  to  be  found,  in  his  interests  and  his  pas- 
sions.  And  thus  they  arrive  at  a  thorough  knowledge  of  their 


THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  249 

true  field  of  action,  the  human  heart,  and  of  the  means  of 
acting  upon  it  judiciously  and  with  effect. 

Their  position  in  society  naturally  depends  to  a  certain 
degree  upon  their  personal  qualities ;  for  although  their  pro- 
fession may  gain  them  a  place  there,  yet  nothing  but  the 
power  of  making  themselves  useful  and  agreeable  can  pre- 
serve it.  In  all  good  society  you  will  be  sure  to  meet  some 
members  of  the  clergy ;  and  if  you  see  them  taking  a  part 
in  diversions  which  Protestants  look  upon  as  unbecoming  to 
their  profession,  you  should  remember  that  there  is  nothing 
in  their  views  to  condemn  it.  Enter  into  conversation  with 
them,  and  you  will  find  them  often  intelligent,  not  unfrequent- 
ly  highly  cultivated,  and  always  firm  upon  questions  of  duty. 
If  you  try  to  engage  them  in  discussion,  they  are  generally 
too  well  prepared  to  decline  it,  but  are  not  more  given  than 
their  brethren  of  other  countries  to  force  their  doctrines  on 
unwilling  ears.  The  relation  which  they  bear  to  their  par- 
ishioners naturally  brings  them  into  a  more  or  less  intimate 
intercourse  with  them,  not  unfrequently  imposing  upon  them 
the  difficult  task  of  being  counsellors  and  guides  in  temporal 
as  well  as  in  spiritual  concerns ;  and  if  this  trust  is  sometimes 
abused,  it  is  full  as  often  exercised  with  scrupulous  integrity. 
Their  interest  in  general  events  and  the  political  questions 
of  the  day,  of  course,  depends  in  a  great  measure  upon  the 
original  diversities  of  individual  character.  But  whatever 
touches  upon  the  interests  of  their  religion  they  follow  up 
assiduously,  and  their  opinions  upon  public  occurrences  are 
always  to  a  certain  extent  affected  by  the  probable  bearing 
of  these  upon  the  welfare  of  the  church.     And  this  is  the 


250  THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

way  in  which  they  will  be  brought  to  take  a  decided  part  in 
the  struggle  for  independence;  for  they  feel  that  Italy  is 
Catholic  both  by  its  associations  and  its  convictions,  and  that 
the  church  can  never  be  free,  until  the  nation  becomes  inde- 
pendent. 

We  would  not  hazard  too  broad  a  generalization  from  par- 
ticular facts ;  but  whatever  may  be  the  case  in  other  coun- 
tries, in  Italy  the  science  of  medicine  is  far  more  apt  to  form 
liberal  minds  than  that  of  law.  How  far  this  may  depend 
upon  individual  character,  and  how  far  upon  the  peculiar 
character  of  each  study,  we  will  not  now  pause  to  inquire. 
There  is  something  in  the  practice  of  medicine  which  fre- 
quently sets  the  physician  at  variance  with  established  au- 
thority, and  throws  him  altogether  upon  his  own  observation 
and  judgment.  The  nature  of  law,  on  the  contrary,  confines 
the  practitioner  strictly  to  his  text,  leaving  him,  at  the  utmost, 
room  for  displaying  more  or  less  ingenuity  in  his  interpreta- 
tion of  it.  Thus  the  former  are  led  to  form  habits  of  close 
and  accurate  observation,  while  the  latter  are  taught  to  look 
up  to  some  acknowledged  authority,  and  submissively  abide 
by  its  decision.  *  And  in  all  but  those  who  ascend  to  the 
real  sources  of  their  science  in  the  common  principles  of  our 
nature,  the  result  must  be  a  ready  subservience  to  author- 
ity, and  an  uncompromising  rigidity  of  system,  different  in 
kind,  but  in  degree  perfectly  similar  to  that  of  the  man  who 
devotes  himself  too  exclusively  to  the  exact  sciences.     Thus, 

*  It  was  probably  this  Italian  view  of  the  subject  which  suggested 
the  remarks  in  the  first  book  of  Botta's  Storia  delta  Guerra  deW  Inde- 
pendent. 


THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY.  251 

when  at  the  diet  of  Roncaglia,  Frederic  Barbarossa  called 
upon  the  law  school  of  Bologna  to  examine  the  question  of 
his  regalian  rights,  that  learned  body  of  native  Italians  de- 
cided unanimously  in  favor  of  the  emperor,  and  against  their 
countrymen. 

But  besides  the  common  practitioners,  there  are  profound 
jurists,  men  who  study  hard  and  think  deeply.  Romagnosi's 
works  are  an  admirable  example  of  what  the  study  of  legal 
science  may  do  for  the  science  of  humanity ;  and  no  one  can 
study  Gioja  without  taking  broader  views  of  his  duties  as  a 
man  and  as  a  member  of  society.  The  young  lawyers  of 
Italy  are  formed  in  the  logical  school  of  the  civil  law,  that 
collection  of  written  reason;  but  their  minds  are  enlarged, 
and  a  higher  impulse  is  given  to  them,  by  the  writings  of  their 
own  great  jurists.  Many,  when  the  day  of  trial  comes,  may 
be  found  wanting,  benumbed  by  routine,  and  enchained  by 
personal  interests ;  but  there  will  also  be  many  to  whom  the 
struggle  will  be  all  the  more  welcome  for  all  the  sacrifices 
which  it  may  impose. 

We  believe,  therefore,  that  the  hopes  of  Italy  are  definite 
and  substantial,  for  they  are  founded  on  her  territorial  divis- 
ions, which  are  better  adapted  for  union  and  defence  than  they 
ever  were  before ;  on  the  increased  communication  between 
independent  states,  which  is  awakening  a  livelier  sense  of 
their  common  interests  as  a  nation,  without  effacing  those  dis- 
tinctive characteristics  to  which  each  and  all  have  owed  so 
much  of  their  glory ;  on  the  character  of  her  literature,  which 
is  pure,  energetic,  and  national ;  on  the  progress  which  the 
Italians  themselves  have  made  towards  a  knowledge  of  their 


252  THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

real  position,  which  is  the  only  security  of  their  being  quali- 
fied to  improve  it ;  on  the  existence  of  a  middle  class,  uniting 
the  aristocracy  and  the  people  by  the  accessions  which  it  re- 
ceives from  each,  and  endowed  with  the  activity  and  energy 
which  fit  it  for  efficient  and  appropriate  action ;  and  in  that 
progress  of  moral  and  social  character  which  alone  can  give 
the  energy  that  wins,  and  the  constancy  that  preserves,  and 
which  forms,  the  surest  trust  of  those  who  accept  with  earnest 
conviction,  the  great  lesson  of  history,  that  liberty  is  the  re- 
ward of  virtue. 


HISTORICAL  ROMANCE  IN  ITALY. 


It  has  often  been  remarked  as  a  singular  phenomenon  in 
the  literary  history  of  Italy,  that  a  people  of  such  lively  and 
inventive  genius,  should  have  accomplished  so  little  in  the 
department  of  historical  romance.  Nor  has  the  surprise 
generally  felt  upon  this  subject,  been  diminished  by  a  more 
attentive  examination  of  the  history  and  literature  of  this 
nation.  The  one  abounding  with  romantic  incidents  and 
striking  developments  of  wild  passion  and  strongly  marked 
character ;  the  other  rich  in  accurate  and  powerful  descrip- 
tions of  real  events,  and  still  richer  in  fascinating  pictures 
of  the  most  enchanting  creations  of  the  imagination.  Nature, 
too,  would  seem  to  have  performed  her  part  in  the  character 
which  she  has  imprinted  upon  the  scenery  of  the  country 
and  in  the  materials  of  romantic  embellishment  which  she  has 
interwoven  with  a  lavish  hand  in  every  line  of  its  varied 
features.  Plains,  mountains  and  quiet  valleys ;  wild  torrents 
and  broad  majestic  streams ;  gigantic  fragments  which  carry 
the  mind  beyond  the  days  of  authentic  history ;  and  noble 
rivers  which  attest  the  reality  of  that  history  which  the  long 

22 


254  HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

lapse  of  ages  has  made  romance  for  us ;  an  air,  whose  breath 
calls  forth  every  latent  seed  of  poetry  and  gives  a  charm 
even  to  the  monotony  of  daily  life;  these  are  among  the 
features  of  romance  which  nature  has  scattered  over  the 
external  aspect  of  the  country ;  and  still  deeper  are  the  prin- 
ciples which  she  has  implanted  in  the  hearts  of  its  inhabitants. 
How  then  has  it  come  to  pass  that  they  have  accomplished  so 
little,  where  every  thing  would  seem  to  promise  the  highest 
success  ? 

The  character,  which  the  literature  of  every  nation  assumes 
from  the  first  moment  of  its  formation,  depends  upon  a  varie- 
ty of  local  and  incidental  causes.  Its  strongest  traits,  those 
which  it  preserves  through  every  period  of  its  revolutions, 
will  necessarily  be  derived  from  the  peculiarities  of  national 
character  and  the  same  causes  which  contribute  to  the  forma- 
tion of  the  one  will  act  constantly  and  effectually  upon  the 
other.  It  is  thus  that  climate  and  natural  scenery  acquire 
their  influence,  giving  a  distinctive  tone  to  its  poetry  and 
forming  as  it  were  the  shade  and  coloring  of  its  pictures.  It 
is  thus  also  that  the  political  situation  of  every  country,  or 
more  properly  speaking  its  political  character,  takes  its  part 
in  that  of  its  literature  and  is  manifested  with  more  or  less 
fulness  in  all  its  literary  productions.  Language,  too,  comes 
in  for  its  share  in  this  general  formation,  and  while  it  borrows 
many  of  its  peculiarities  from  those  of  the  minds  that  employ 
it,  communicates  to  them,  in  turn,  a  portion  of  its  own  original 
spirit ;  like  the  stream  which,  in  part,  derives  its  beauty,  or  its 
grandeur,  from  those  of  the  landscape  through  which  it  flows, 
and  at  the  same  time  reflects  upon  that  landscape  its  own  dis- 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  255 

tinctive  features,  softening  its  beauty,  or  giving  new  majesty 
to  its  grandeur. 

The  influence  of  these  causes  may  be  considered  as  general 
and  can  easily  be  traced  in  the  early  history  of  every  litera- 
ture. Others  scarcely  less  important  were  peculiar  to  the 
revival  of  letters  in  Italy.  But  none  have  so  immediate  a 
bearing  upon  our  subject  as  the  direction  which  the  three 
great  men  by  whom  this  revival  was  accomplished,  gave  to 
the  studies  of  their  contemporaries,  and  through  them  to  those 
of  the  following  century.  First  among  them  was  Dante,  who 
came  at  once  to  guide  and  be  guided  by  the  passions  which 
were  in  action  around  him.  In  him  the  romantic  gallantry  of 
the  Troubadours  was  refined  into  the  pure  and  devoted  love 
that  led  to  the  deification  of  his  Beatrice.  The  subtle  meta- 
physics of  the  schoolmen,  were  elevated  to  the  profound  and 
sublime,  though  often  obscure  and  extravagant  theology  of 
the  Paradiso ;  while  the  virulence  of  party  had  no  small  share 
in  the  judgments  which  suggested  the  terrific  descriptions  of 
the  Inferno.  Dante,  in  short,  or  rather  the  form  which  his 
genius  assumed,  was,  in  a  great  measure,  the  consequence  of 
the  character  of  his  age  and  of  the  general  causes  to  which 
we  have  already  alluded.  But  the  inspiration  which  he  had 
derived  from  these,  he,  in  turn,  communicated  to  others.  The 
Divina  Commedia  became  the  model  of  all  those  who  aimed 
at  the  higher  flights  of  poetry,  and,  as  is  ever  the  case,  the 
streams  which  were  thus  drawn  forth  and  taught  to  flow  by 
art,  ran  slow  and  silently  by  the  side  of  those  which  had  sprung 
from  deep  natural  sources. 

Similar  in  kind,  though  not  in  degree,  was  the  influence  of 


256  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

Petrarch.  Never  had  romantic  passion  sung  so  sweetly; 
never  had  gallantry  and  love  been  so  blended;  never  had 
philosophy  and  nature  been  so  lavish  of  their  treasures,  the 
one  to  describe  passion,  the  other  to  illustrate  and  adorn  it. 
A  bewitching  charm  floated  around  the  Canzoniere,  and  as 
the  contemporaries  and  successors  of  Petrarch  listened  to  the 
melody,  each,  like  the  passions  at  the  cave  of  music,  seized 
the  lyre  and  sought 

'  To  prove  his  own  expressive  power.' 

It  was  not  by  verse  that  Boccacio  formed  his  school.  But 
a  prose  whose  full,  harmonious  flow  approached  the  varied 
melody  of  Latin  eloquence;  a  language  which  seemed  to 
adapt  itself  to  every  subject,  while,  in  truth,  it  raised  the 
lowest  subjects  to  its  own  standard,  veiling  the  coarseness  of 
vulgar  details,  and  giving  an  irresistible  attraction  to  the 
most  harrowing  descriptions,  by  the  charm  of  words  and 
idioms,  grave  or  gay,  thrillingly  powerful,  or  gracefully  ex- 
pressive, and  everywhere  so  appropriate,  that  five  centuries 
of  constant  study  have  produced  nothing  so  perfect ;  this  was 
the  art  by  which  the  father  of  Italian  prose  won  so  large  a 
train  of  disciples  into  the  path  which  he  had  opened.  The 
school  of  Boccacio,  though  not  so  large  as  that  of  Petrarch, 
was  larger  and  more  durable  than  that  of  Dante.  The  tales, 
or  novellette  which  he  carried  to  the  highest  point  of  perfection, 
still  form  an  integral  part  of  Italian  literature ;  and  there  are 
few  of  its  great  prose  writers  who  have  not  drawn  from  this 
fountain  as  from  the  purest  source  of  eloquence. 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  257 

Such  was  the  direction  first  given  to  Italian  literature. 
The  three  great  men  by  whom  this  impulse  was  communi- 
cated, laid  at  the  same  time  the  foundation  of  another  school, 
whose  effects  may  be  traced  throughout  every  period  from  the 
days  of  Dante  to  our  own  times.  We  mean  the  classic  school. 
The  veneration  which  they  felt  and  invariably  manifested  for 
the  ancient  classics,  fell  little  short  of  religious  devotion.  But 
the  study  of  these  pure  models  of  taste  and  eloquence  was 
pursued  with  a  spirit  worthy  both  of  the  disciple  and  of  the 
master.  It  was  not  a  mere  poetic  fiction  which  represented 
Virgil  as  the  guide  of  Dante.  Every  step  which  the  Italian 
of  the  middle  ages  took  in  the  three  realms  of  the  Catholic 
creed,  was  directed  by  the  spirit  of  his  master.  Who  that 
studies  the  Divina  Commedia,  even  in  those  passages  where 
the  poet  entangled  in  the  web  of  his  theology,  strives  to 
explain  what  cannot  be  explained,  and  almost  succeeds  by 
the  force  of  language  in  giving  form  and  reality  to  the  subtle 
distinctions  of  his  school  of  metaphysics,  can  deny  that  it 
was  from  the  study  of  Virgil  alone  that  he  learnt  to  give  to 
words  that  magic  and  long  forgotten  power  ?  And  although 
in  reading  the  Latin  works  of  Petrarch,  we  may  often  find  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  Cicero  and  Virgil  were  the  avowed 
models  of  his  style,  yet  the  grace,  the  harmony  and  the  pol- 
ished correctness  of  his  Italian  verses,  clearly  show  how  much 
his  taste  had  been  elevated  and  refined  by  his  familiarity  with 
the  Latin  classics. 

But  with  their  followers  this  study  was  degraded  into  a 
servile  imitation  of  manner  and  a  dry  analysis  of  forms. 
They  had  no  knowledge  of  that  imitation  which  refines  the 

22* 


258  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY. 

taste,  without  fettering  the  action  of  the  mind ;  which  shows 
where  and  how  the  forms  of  one  work  may  be  adapted  to 
another ;  and  transfuses  as  it  were  the  spirit  of  ancient  beau- 
ty into  productions  which  bear  all  the  characteristics  of  their 
own  age.  But,  although  the  scholars  of  this  class  accom- 
plished but  little  in  real  literature,  their  labors  were  far  from 
being  destitute  of  utility.  The  sixteenth  century  showed 
that  however  dry  the  pursuits  of  the  fifteenth,  they  had  pre- 
pared the  way  for  a  great  and  direct  advance.  The  men 
who  so  successfully  resumed  the  work,  begun  by  the  three 
great  writers  of  the  fourteenth  century,  were  like  them  en- 
dowed with  that  original  genius,  which  while  it  avails  itself 
of  all  that  has  been  accomplished  by  others,  creates  more 
than  it  borrows  and  gives  even  to  the  ideas  and  inventions 
of  other  men  an  air  of  originality  and  a  coloring  of  its  own. 
They  were  deeply  imbued  with  the  classic  spirit  which  pre- 
vailed in  all  the  studies  of  the  age,  but  they  partook  of  it 
as  their  master  had  done.  Style,  elegance  of  description, 
elevation  of  philosophy,  polish  of  language,  all  were  classic ; 
but  the  subjects  and  tone  of  their  works  were  modern  and 
original.  The  metrical  romance  which  Ariosto  carried  to 
a  degree  of  perfection,  which  has  justly  made  it  doubtful 
to  whom  the  laurel  of  Italian  epic  belongs,  were  more  nu- 
merous than  the  imitations  of  Dante,  or  of  Boccacio,  or  in 
short  of  any  class  except  the  lyric  poems  of  Petrarca.  Thus 
divided  between  the  schools  of  visions,  of  lyric  poetry,  of 
prose  tales,  and  of  metrical  romances,  the  genius  of  Italy 
found  in  forms  of  its  own  invention,  sufficient  variety  to 
employ  all  its  powers.     When,  finally,  the  example  of  Tasso 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY.  259 

had  shown  how  well  the  ancient  epic  could  be  adapted  to  the 
spirit  of  modern  poetry,  and  when  the  revival  of  comedy 
and  tragedy  had  begun  to  excite  the  emulation  of  all  classes 
of  writers,  nothing  but  a  very  peculiar  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances could  have  led  to  the  invention  of  a  new  branch 
of  literature. 

Such  a  combination  was  far  from  taking  place.  Italy  had 
long  ceased  to  be  a  nation.  The  great  interests,  the  strong 
feelings,  the  ardent  aspirations  after  freedom  which  had 
preceded  the  first  revival  of  letters,  had  disappeared;  or 
where  they  still  continued  to  exist,  but  added  new  force  to 
that  truth  already  too  evident,  that  individual  virtues,  when 
foreign  to  the  age,  serve  but  to  call  down  contempt  and 
misery  upon  those  who  were  formed  to  be  under  other  cir- 
cumstances the  benefactors  of  mankind.  The  nation  which 
had  hitherto  been  the  guide  of  Europe,  then  became,  in  part, 
the  humble  follower  of  her  own  disciples.  Translations, 
imitations,  and  servile  copies,  succeeded  to  original  creation 
in  almost  every  department,  and  the  corruption  extending 
to  the  language,  seemed  to  threaten  her  literature  with  total 
destruction.  Yet  this  very  period  gave  rise  to  some  of  her 
choicest  works  in  history  and  in  science,  and  some  of  the 
brightest  names  in  the  scientific  history  of  Europe  are  to 
be  found  among  the  Italian  of  this  degraded  epoch.  The 
musical  drama  also,  as  every  reader  of  Metastasio  knows, 
from  a  mere  idle  recreation,  became  a  branch  of  permanent 
literature,  no  less  fascinating  by  the  charms  of  its  verse, 
than  instructive  by  its  truth  to  nature.  Tragedy,  comedy  or 
satire  in  its  more  extended  and  artificial  form,  though  each 


260  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

can  boast  but  a  single  name,  were  carried  to  a  very  high  point 
of  perfection. 

There  has  been  no  time,  therefore,  in  which  Italy  has  not 
been  distinguished  by  a  certain  degree  of  intellectual  activity 
and  has  not  made  some  progress  in  creative  literature.  But 
at  the  same  time  there  has  been  a  constant  tendency  toward 
the  formation  of  particular  schools,  and  except  in  the  case  of 
those  great  men,  who  however  they  may  be  situated,  strike 
out  a  path  for  themselves,  a  strong  disposition  to  follow  in  the 
beaten  track  of  some  well  known  guide.  The  true  source  of 
this  must  be  sought  in  the  political  condition  of  the  country, 
rather  than  in  the  natural  character  of  the  Italians.  But  it 
is  in  this  tendency  that  we  must  seek  for  one  of  the  causes 
of  the  constant  neglect  of  the  full  historical  novel,  which, 
although  contemporary  with  the  Divina  Commedia,  first  ap- 
peared in  so  rough  or  rather  uninviting  a  form,  as  to  hold 
out  no  attractions  for  men  capable  of  relishing  the  superior 
beauties  of  the  different  writers,  whose  names  we  have  had 
occasion  to  repeat  so  often. 

This  applies  only  to  those  writers  of  the  second  class  by  whom 
in  every  country  this  department  is  almost  exclusively  filled. 
The  reasons  which  have  kept  back  the  higher  order  of  men 
from  this  attractive  field,  lie  still  deeper  in  the  character  and 
history  of  the  people. 

The  first  of  these  we  shall  merely  allude  to,  without  ventur- 
ing to  enlarge  upon  it.  It  is  found,  we  are  at  a  loss  whether 
to  say  in  the  peculiar  cast,  or  in  the  absolute  want  of  society. 
Here  as  in  some  other  cases  the  general  fact  is  apparent ;  but 
can  only  be  illustrated  by  those  who  have  made  profound  and 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY.  261 

extensive  observations,  with  the  advantage  which  few  for- 
eigners ever  obtain,  of  a  free  admission  into  Italian  cir- 
cles. 

The  second,  and  one  which  seems  to  us  to  have  contributed 
more  than  any  which  we  have  hitherto  mentioned,  to  retard 
and  perhaps  render  impossible  the  success  of  the  novelist  in 
Italy,  is  the  peculiarly  romantic  character  of  Italian  history. 
Of  the  romantic  cast  of  its  scenery  and  of  its  people  we  have 
already  spoken.  "The  peculiar  relations  in  which  Italy  has 
stood  with  regard  to  the  rest  of  Europe  and  to  the  different 
states  of  her  own  territory  during  the  most  important  periods 
of  her  history,  have  brought  these  materials  into  play  in  a 
manner  which  has  left  nothing  to  be  done  by  the  warmest 
imagination.  In  the  place  of  one  people  united  under  the 
same  government  and  impelled  by  the  same  motives,  we 
find  the  whole  population  divided  into  rival  states.  Where 
the  craggy  peaks  and  wild  fastnesses  of  the  mountains  offered 
a  shelter  for  crime,  or  a  secure  retreat  for  feudal  pride,  the 
bandit  built  his  tower,  or  the  noble  his  castle.  Amid  the 
fertile  plains  of  Lombardy,  along  the  banks  of  the  streams 
which  roll  their  waters  to  the  Mediterranean  or  to  the  Adri- 
atic, the  combined  exertions  of  a  bold  and  hardy  populace 
had  erected  the  walls  of  their  independent  cities.  In  none 
of  these  situations  did  the  current  of  life  flow  smoothly.  The 
robber  traced  from  his  watch-tower  the  movements  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  plain  or  valley,  and  hastened  to  plant  his 
ambuscade  at  the  first  turn  of  the  path.  The  noble  closed 
or  opened  at  pleasure  the  passes  which  his  castle  commanded, 
or,  when  least  expected,  descended  with  a  train  of  daring 


262  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY. 

vassals  to  carry  destruction  to  the  fields  and  sometimes  even 
to  the  gates  of  the  wealthy  cities  which  he  coveted  and  des- 
pised. In  them,  in  place  of  the  bustling,  cheerful,  regular 
movement  of  industrious  citizens,  the  cares  of  business  and 
the  turmoil  of  faction  were  wildly  blended.  Each  house  was 
a  fortress,  each  street  the  field  of  innumerable  conflicts. 
Commerce  itself  was  a  constant  warfare,  and  the  fleet  that 
sailed  for  trade,  went  armed  for  resistance  or  for  conquest. 
Thirst  of  wealth,  ambition  of  power,  party  spirit  excited  to 
exasperation,  and  public  jealousy  ripened  to  the  profoundest 
hatred,  all  that  passion  has  of  virulence  and  cruelty  of  ter- 
rific, were  found  in  the  events  of  those  ages.  The  bloody 
contests  which  prevailed  in  the  free  cities,  and  gave  to  the 
daily  life  of  every  citizen  the  fearful  excitement  and  uncer- 
tainty of  war,  would  almost  sicken  us  at  the  terror  of  an  ill- 
regulated  freedom;  while  the  insatiable  cruelty  of  an  Ezze- 
lino,  or  the  inhuman  ferocity  which  suggested  the  pastimes 
of  a  Visconti,  present  such  pictures  of  the  excesses  of  tyran- 
ny as  would  dispose  us  to  choose  any  state  rather  than  live 
exposed  to  the  capricious  jealousy  of  individual  power.  But 
when  the  mind  shrinks  loathing  and  horror-struck  from  the 
contemplation  of  these  scenes,  and  is  ready  to  deny  the  value 
of  descriptions  which  seem  to  present  nothing  but  a  repeti- 
tion of  unnatural  crimes,  interest  of  another  kind,  characters 
of  a  different  cast,  arrest  its  attention  and  fix  it  upon  these 
pages  of  blood.  Amid  the  merciless  contests  of  faction  and 
at  the  side  of  remorseless  tyranny,  patriotism  assumes  a  form 
and  a  power,  which  circumstances  less  trying  could  never 
have  developed.     The  wild  energy  of  the  poetry  and  sub- 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY.  263 

lime  daring  of  the  architecture  we  still  admire,  were  caught 
from  the  events  and  necessities  of  those  times,  and  it  was  by 
that  terrific  conflict  of  barbarous  passions,  that  human  nature 
was  redeemed  from  the  debasement  of  the  Empire,  and  Eu- 
rope put  into  that  path  of  civilization,  which  has  enabled  us 
to  judge  with  so  rigid  a  justice  the  virtues  and  the  vices  of 
her  infancy. 

To  whatever  portion  of  Italian  history  we  direct  our  atten- 
tion, we  shall  find  the  same  powerful  and  romantic  develop- 
ment. Ferrucci  the  last  hope  of  Florence  in  her  last,  long 
struggle  for  freedom,  sinking  beneath  the  sword  of  his  assas- 
sin, and  calmly  replying  to  the  blows  with  which  a  savage 
hatred  vented  its  fury,  "Thou  but  strikest  a  dead  man!" 
would  furnish  a  no  less  striking  character  for  romance,  than 
young  Corradino  renouncing  the  charms  of  power  and  ease, 
to  reclaim  at  the  point  of  the  sword  the  heritage  of  his  fathers, 
and  paying  upon  the  scaffold  the  penalty  of  his  virtues  and  of 
his  daring.  What  might  not  be  made  of  the  life  of  Filippo 
Strozzi,  whose  mind  presented  the  two  extremes  of  elevation 
and  of  debasement,  as  his  history  was  marked  by  those  of 
prosperous  and  of  adverse  fortune?  Or  where  can  we  look 
for  richer  materials  than  we  find  in  that  of  his  sons  Piero  and 
Leone,  in  which  daring  adventure,  strong  passions,  and  variety 
and  grandeur  of  enterprise  combine  to  form  a  history  that 
would  task  the  ablest  pen  ? 

Were  the  composition  of  historical  romance  as  easy  as  we 
are  apt  to  suppose,  were  it  so  light  a  task,  as  at  the  first 
glance,  it  appears  to  combine  the  truths  of  history  with  the 
creations  of  imagination,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  reproduce 


264  HISTORICAL  ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

and  illustrate  the  events  of  distant  and  interesting  periods, 
the  circumstances  which  seem  to  render  Italian  history  so 
favorable  to  fiction,  would  really  prove  what  they  seem.  But 
it  is  in  fact  an  undertaking  which  requires  the  highest  exer- 
tions of  the  most  gifted  minds.  Its  basis  is  truth,  and  history 
must  be  thoroughly  and  skilfully  studied.  Its  illustrations 
are  those  general  traits  of  character  and  those  every  day  oc- 
currences of  life,  which  though  so  deeply  rooted  in  our  own 
nature,  as  to  be  renewed  in  every  age,  are  yet  so  flexible 
and  subtle  in  their  details  that  they  adapt  themselves  to  each 
and  mingle  with  its  leading  characteristics.  Its  embellish- 
ments are  like  those  of  poetry,  and  must  be  drawn  from  the 
carefully  gathered  stores  of  an  observant  and  reflecting  mind, 
and  so  disposed,  as  to  act,  at  the  will  of  the  writer  and  with 
the  full  force  of  his  art,  upon  the  fancy,  the  judgment  or 
the  heart. 

When  an  Italian  possessed  of  power  equal  to  such  an  un- 
dertaking, enters  upon  the  study  of  his  native  history  with  a 
view  to  illustrate  it,  he  cannot  long  hesitate  concerning  the 
course  which  he  should  choose.  For  him  more  than  for  any 
other  writer,  is  the  composition  of  history  a  task  of  deep  re- 
sponsibility. He  is  responsible  to  the  ages  that  are  gone  for 
the  manner  in  which  he  repeats  their  lessons  of  awful  warning. 
He  is  responsible  to  posterity  for  tne  weight  which  every 
word  he  writes,  every  character  he  paints,  will  throw  into  the 
scale  of  their  happiness  or  of  their  misery ;  aiding  to  forge  the 
fetters  that  are  to  bind,  or  to  work  out  the  freedom  that  is  to 
gladden  them.  He  is  responsible  to  his  contemporaries,  and 
severe  will  be  the  account  that  he  must  render  them ;  and  well        , 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  265 

does  he  know  that  as  he  suffers  his  mind  to  be  swayed  by  the 
passions  of  his  own  times,  he  is  preparing  for  himself  the 
suspicions  and  the  hatred  either  of  his  government,  or  of  his 
countrymen  at  home,  a  garret  in  Paris,  or  a  dungeon  on  the 
Spielberg. 

Taking  up  his  pen  with  such  feelings  and  with  such  pros- 
pects, it  is  hardly  possible  for  an  Italian  of  genius  to  fix  upon 
romance  rather  than  history,  as  the  medium  of  communication, 
with  his  contemporaries,  and  with  that  posterity,  upon  which, 
more  than  the  writer  of  any  other  country,  he  is  dependent 
for  his  reward.  Every  step  he  takes  in  the  course  of  his 
researches,  confirms  this  decision.  The  chronicles  and  docu- 
ments which  supply  his  materials,  contain  pictures  and  de- 
scriptions of  so  striking  and  dramatic  a  cast  that  he  feels,  as 
it  were,  transported  by  the  simple  and  energetic  language  of 
the  writer,  to  the  very  scene  which  he  is  describing.  His 
own  mind  catches  the  glow,  and  kindling  into  enthusiasm)  he 
repeats  the  tale  with  that  magic  power  of  narration  and  de- 
scription, which  raises  Italian  history  in  this  particular  above 
that  of  every  other  nation. 

Another  circumstance  wholly  dependent  upon  the  political 
situation  of  Italy,  concurs  with  these  in  retarding  the  progress 
of  the  historical  novel,  if  it  should  not  rather  be  considered 
as  opposing  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  its  success.  We  are 
fond  of  speaking  of  the  ennobling  and  refining  influence  of 
literature  and  of  the  glory  of  renouncing  the  coarser  occu- 
pations of  life  for  those  elevated  pursuits  which  extend  the 
sphere  of  our  actions  and  of  our  influence  to  the  remotest 
posterity.     That  these  sentiments  really  do  mingle  with  the 

23 


266  HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

varied  motives  which  guide  the  pens  of  a  large  proportion  of 
writers,  is  a  truth  that  we  should  be  loath  to  deny.  That 
one  still  purer,  the  love  of  literature  for  itself,  the  delight 
which  every  creative  genius  must  experience  in  contem- 
plating those  forms  of  beauty  which  arise  under  its  own  hand ; 
the  rapture  which  every  elevated  soul  must  prove  in  going 
onward  from  link  to  link  in  the  great  chain  of  moral  and 
physical  truth  which  binds  this  vast  system  of  the  universe ; 
that  these  motives  still  continue  to  act  upon  some  minds,  and 
will  still  go  on  purifying  and  elevating  the  spirit  of  literature 
is  so  winning  a  belief  that  we  should  dread  to  find  it  untrue. 
But  it  cannot  be  denied  that  motives  of  a  very  different  cast 
are,  at  least,  as  often  listened  to,  as  any  of  those  which  have 
so  long,  and  might  we  not  say,  so  vainly,  formed  the  ideal 
perfection  of  literary  character.  The  sacrifice  of  permanent 
glory  to  the  thirst  for  immediate  applause,  is  not  peculiar  to 
our  own,  nor  to  any  age.  It  has  acted  with  more  or  less 
power  in  all  ages,  and  often  upon  the  highest,  as  well  as  upon 
the  lowest  order  of  minds.  It  has  assumed  different  aspects, 
adapted  to  the  nature  and  to  the  necessities  of  the  times.  It 
has  sacrificed  poetry  to  the  corruptions  of  a  false  taste,  and 
history  to  the  passions  of  the  great.  It  has  made  eloquence 
the  vehicle  of  corruption,  and  rendered  satire  subservient  to 
the  littleness  of  personal  malice.  The  duties  which  literature 
imposes  have  been  neglected;  the  deep  responsibilities  of 
genius  have  been  forgotten ;  and  here,  as  everywhere,  where 
reputation  becomes  the  sole  end  of  our  exertions,  each  aspirant 
has  stripped  himself  for  the  contest  without  a  thought  beyond 
the  prize  at  which  he  aims. 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  267 

This  passion  no  longer  stands  alone,  if,  indeed,  it  ever 
did.  A  more  powerful  stimulant  and  more  in  unison  with 
the  spirit  of  our  age,  acts  with  it.  The  one  is  dependent 
upon  the  other,  and  the  gratification  of  the  former  is  inva- 
riably attended  by  the  full  success  of  the  latter.  One  who 
should  attempt  to  renew  the  once  just  complaints  concerning 
the  neglect  of  literary  merit,  would  have  to  go  back  to  an- 
other age  in  search  of  his  examples.  Genius  is  not  only 
esteemed,  but  rewarded,  nor  that  with  empty  praise  alone, 
but  with  a  large  share  of  that  wealth  and  influence  which 
are  supposed  to  constitute  the  happiness  of  life  and  can 
really  command  its  comforts.  Nothing  can  be  more  just; 
nothing  can  contribute  more  powerfully  towards  placing  in- 
tellectual superiority  upon  its  proper  basis.  The  man  of  let- 
ters who  derives  all  his  power  from  the  resources  of  his  own 
mind ;  who  with  no  other  reliance  than  his  pen,  is  enabled 
to  compete  with  pride  of  birth  and  hereditary  wealth,  and 
who  when  assailed  by  misfortunes  and  entangled  in  per- 
plexing and  harassing  embarrassments,  can  draw  from  the 
inexhaustible  treasures  of  his  own  intellect,  the  means,  not 
merely  of  resistance,  but  of  triumph ;  such  a  man  does  more  to 
establish  the  superiority  of  mental,  over  every  other  form  of 
power,  than  volumes  of  rapturous  panegyric,  or  of  metaphys- 
ical analysis. 

The  lot  of  genius  was  certainly  never  cast  in  better  days. 
How  far  literature  itself  has  gained  by  the  change,  may  fairly 
be  considered  a3  a  subject  open  to  dispute.  It  is  a  question, 
however,  which  can  only  be  decided  by  those,  who  at  the 
distance  of  another  century  shall  trace  the  literary  history  of 


268  HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

the  present  age.  For  our  parts,  it  is  a  question  which  we  can 
never  approach,  without  feeling  ourselves  involved  in  perplex- 
ing doubts.  And  if  at  times  we  share  in  the  pleasure  with 
which  every  one  must  view  this  triumph  of  intellect,  at  others, 
we  can  hardly  repress  the  conviction  that  the  success  of  the 
individual  is  won  with  more  than  a  partial  sacrifice  of  the 
cause  in  which  he  is  engaged. 

But  the  point  more  closely  connected  with  our  present 
subject,  is  the  influence  of  the  pecuniary  success  of  popular 
writers  in  directing  their  attention  to  particular  branches  of 
literature.  Nor  can  it  require  illustration.  Surrounded  as 
we  are  with  every  form  of  proof  which  can  be  required  in 
order  to  show  how  close  a  connection  subsists  between  popu- 
lar taste  and  the  taste  of  popular  writers,  it  is  impossible  to 
hesitate  in  our  conclusions.  Nor  should  we  suffer  ourselves 
to  be  deceived  by  a  change  of  terms.  Popular  taste  is  but 
a  synonymy  for  interest,  and  compliance  with  the  former 
means  nothing  more  than  a  discreet  obedience  to  the  dictates 
of  the  latter.  Hence  we  find  genius  of  a  high  order  laboring 
in  the  composition  of  ephemeral  productions,  and  pouring 
forth  volume  after  volume  of  works  in  which  its  own  taste 
must  find  much  to  condemn,  and  still  more  to  amend.  Hence 
we  see  the  crowd  of  imitators,  which,  numerous  as  it  always 
has  been,  exceeds  anything  that  the  annals  of  literature  have 
hitherto  recorded,  and  which,  watching  every  fluctuation  in 
public  taste,  follows  blindly  wherever  it  turns. 

These  circumstances  naturally  suggest  a  form  of  literature, 
by  which  the  writer  can  constantly  hold  such  a  place  in  the 
public  eye  as  to  secure  the  favor  of  a  large  class  of  readers, 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY.  269 

the  only  sure  path  to  the  purse  of  his  publishers.  This 
cannot  be  done  by  history,  for  the  composition  of  history 
requires  long  and  patient  and  laborious  research ;  nor  by 
poetry,  unless  the  bard  be  gifted  with  the  fertile  genius  of  a 
Byron ;  nor  by  philosophy,  nor  by  any  branch  of  science,  for 
however  extensive  and  durable  the  fame  which  success  in 
these  departments  may  secure,  it  can  seldom  be  attended 
with  popular  favor,  or  extensive  gain.  Prose  fiction,  whether 
in  the  form  of  novels,  or  of  tales,  whether  grounded  upon 
facts,  or  derived  from  the  imagination  of  the  writer,  is  the 
only  branch  of  literature  which  can  gratify  at  once  the  pas- 
sion for  immediate  reputation  and  pecuniary  profit.  This 
enables  him  to  keep  constantly  before  the  public ;  to  prevent 
his  readers,  by  the  regularity  of  his  appearance,  from  losing 
sight  of  him  amid  the  crowd  that  never  fails  to  flock  into  every 
successful  path ;  and  when  he  has  once  secured  attention  by 
writing  well,  to  command  it  at  will,  by  the  mere  authority  of 
his  name. 

We  have  dwelt  upon  this  point  longer  than  we  had  in- 
tended, from  a  desire  to  induce  our  readers  to  examine 
and  weigh  carefully  the  correctness  of  our  views,  before  we 
proceed  to  uncover  the  other  side  of  the  picture.  The  in- 
ducements which  we  have  represented  as  contributing  so 
much  towards  the  cultivation  of  romance  by  men  of  great 
intellectual  powers,  exist  not  in  Italy.  The  division  of  the 
territory  into  petty  states  and  under  the  dominion  of  differ- 
ent families,  renders  the  privilege  of  copy-right,  even  where 
it  can  be  obtained,  of  little  or  no  advantage.  No  sooner  is  a 
work  announced  in  one  part  of  the  country,  than  the  publish- 

23* 


270  HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

ers  of  other  states,  and  often  those  of  different  cities  within 
the  same  state,  prepare  themselves  for  its  appearance.     If  it 
prove  successful,  it  is  immediately  reprinted  wherever  there 
is  a  chance  of  finding  purchasers.     If  it  be  a  failure,  the  first 
publisher  feels  the  loss,  and  nobody  ever  hears  of  it  again. 
But  as  far  as  the  pecuniary  interest  of  the  author  is  con- 
cerned, success  and  failure,  are  nearly  alike  in  their  conse- 
quences.    He  gains  nothing,  or  at  best  but  a  trifle.     Were 
this  all,  there  would  still  be  a  certain  appearance  of  justice  in 
his  lot.     But  he  has  often  to  lose  in  his  own  person,  and 
while  struggling  with  poverty,  to  view  without  the  power  of 
reclamation,  the  profits  which  others  derive  from  the  produc- 
tions of  his  genius.     But  an  example  which  we  have  from 
the  lips  of  the  individual  himself,  will  place  this  melancholy 
truth  in  a  stronger  light  than  any  observations  of  ours  can 
possibly  do.     Botta's  History  of  the  American  Revolution  is 
well  known  in  this  country,  and  the  translation  of  it  has  passed 
through  two  editions  under  the  sanction  of  American  copy- 
right.    The  French  translator,  also,  was  liberally  rewarded 
for  his  labors  by  the  publishers  of  Paris.     In  Italy  the  edi- 
tions of  the  original  text  have  been  multiplied  in  every  part 
of  the  country,  and  have  proved  in  every  form,  a  fruitful 
source  of  gain  to  the  editors. ,  What  in  the  meanwhile  was 
the  reward  of  the  author  ?     He  had  drawn  upon  his  scanty 
patrimony  in  order  to  repay  the  expenses  of  the  original  pub- 
lication, for  no  bookseller  could  be  found  in  Paris  willing  to 
undertake  it  at  his  own  risk.     While  the  Italian  reprints  and 
the  French  translation  were  obtaining  an  unexampled  circula- 
tion, the  copies  of  the  first  edition  were  lying  a  dead  weight 


HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  271 

upon  the  author's  hands ;  and  he  was  at  last  constrained  to  sell 
six  hundred  of  them,  at  the  price  of  waste  paper,  for  a  few 
sous  a  pound,  in  order  to  purchase  for  his  wife  the  privilege  of 
dying  in  her  native  land. 

What  then  can  induce  the  Italian  to  renounce  the  ease  of 
a  life  of  indolence  or  the  advantages  of  commerce  for  the 
cares  and  anxieties,  and  in  speaking  of  Italy  we  must  add, 
the  dangers  of  literature  ?  We  know  of  but  two  causes  at  all 
adequate  to  such  a  result.  The  love  of  literature  for  itself, 
and  the  thirst  for  a  durable  reputation.  To  these  should  be 
added,  but  as  acting  with  them,  rather  than  as  a  separate 
cause,  the  hope  of  doing  something  towards  the  regeneration 
of  his  fellow-citizens. 

That  the  love  of  letters  does  exist  in  Italy,  if  not  in  perfect 
purity,  at  least,  freer  from  the  corruptions  by  which  it  is 
tarnished  in  other  countries,  would  seem  to  be  sufficiently 
evident  from  what  has  already  been  stated  with  regard  to  the 
situation  of  its  votaries.  And,  in  fact,  when  on  the  one  hand 
we  consider  the  obstacles  which  obstruct  the  path  of  the  man 
of  letters,  in  this  unhappy  country ;  his  sacrifice  of  peace  and 
of  domestic  quiet;  the  alternative  to  which  so  many  are 
reduced  of  choosing  between  a  prison  and  an  exile ;  and  the 
meager  and  uncertain  rewards,  which  attend  the  most  suc- 
cessful exertions ;  arid  upon  the  other  contemplate  the  ardor 
with  which  the  best  talent  of  the  land  consecrates  itself  to 
literature ;  and  the  unwavering  devotion,  with  which  it  meets 
every  sacrifice  and  hardship  that  its  choice  imposes ;  we  are 
struck  with  an  admiration  which  we  had  never  felt  before ; 
and  are  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  beautiful  provision  of 


272  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

Providence,  which  when  every  ordinary  motive  would  turn 
us  back  from  the  paths  of  intellectual  culture,  decks  them  with 
a  winning,  an  irresistible  loveliness,  stronger  than  the  sugges- 
tions of  indolence,  or  the  attractions  of  interest.  Neither  is 
the  prospect  of  an  ephemeral  reputation,  embittered  as  it  is, 
by  all  the  cares  and  vexations,  and  yet  deprived  of  all  the 
advantages  which  make  it  attractive  in  other  countries,  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  the  literary  devotion  of  a  modern  Italian. 
He  undoubtedly  labors  for  applause,  as  every  aspiring  mind 
must  do ;  but  the  fame  after  which  he  endeavors  is  that  tardy 
fame  which  is  sculptured  upon  the  tomb,  and  which  by  an 
unaccountable,  though  undeniable  illusion,  reconciles  man  to 
the  trials  which  he  actually  endures,  by  the  hope  of  distant 
tributes  of  love  and  veneration  which  he  can  neither  hear  nor 
enjoy. 

If  the  view  which  we  have  taken  of  the  personal  induce- 
ments to  literary  exertion  in  Italy,  be  correct,  it  will  necessa- 
rily follow  that  men  of  genius  will  choose  that  course  which 
promises  to  lead  more  directly  and  surely  to  the  reward  after 
which  they  aspire;  or,  in  other  words,  they  will  naturally 
adopt  that  branch  of  literature  which  gives  the  greatest  secu- 
rity of  durable  fame.  We  can  hardly  be  accused  of  rashness 
or  of  prejudice,  when  we  assert  that  of  all  the  various  forms 
of  composition,  although  none  may  lead  more  promptly  than 
romance  to  immediate  applause ;  yet  none  is  so  insecure  a 
guide  to  permanent  reputation.  It  was  one  of  the  first  in- 
ventions of  modern  literature.  It  was  one  of  the  earliest  and 
most  curious  pictures  of  the  middle  ages.  It  has  followed 
every  turn  of  society  and  every  where  adapted  itself  to  the 


HISTORICAL    ROMANCE   IN   ITALY.  273 

feelings  and  character  of  the  age.  But  as  these  give  place  to 
new  feelings  and  to  new  characters,  the  fictions  which  formed 
the  delight  of  one  century  have  been  almost  instantly  forgot- 
ten, if  not  caricatured  and  despised  in  the  next.  Nor  has 
this  proceeded  more  from  those  changes  in  our  pursuits  and 
in  our  mode  of  life,  which  call  for  a  concurrent  change  in 
works  of  this  kind,  than  from  the  nature  of  the  work  itself, 
which  holding  a  middle  station  between  poetry  and  history 
and  neither  shackled  by  the  difficulties  of  the  one,  nor  requir- 
ing the  laborious  research  of  the  other,  presents  temptations 
to  the  formation  of  habits  of  hasty  and  careless  writing,  which 
few  have  the  strength  or  the  courage  to  resist.  Our  own  age 
has  already  witnessed  the  rise  of  three  new  forms.  Two  of 
them,  though  at  first  hardly  less  popular  than  the  other,  are 
nearly  forgotten.  The  third  and  most  recent,  still  survives. 
Whether  it  be  destined  to  share  the  fate  of  its  predecessors,  is 
a  question  which  cannot  yet  be  decided.  Bound  as  we  still 
are  by  the  spell  that  it  has  thrown  around  us,  we  are  unable 
to  see  beyond  the  magic  circle,  and  tell  how  far  the  current 
that  has  swept  away  every  other  class  will  carry  this.  Then 
it  is  distinguished  from  all  others  by  one  great  advantage. 
With  the  same  privilege  of  taking  its  subjects  from  real  life 
and  thus  representing  human  nature  as  it  is,  it  possesses  the 
additional  one  of  throwing  light  upon  those  parts  of  history, 
over  which  the  pen  of  the  historian  passes  with  a  faint  and 
rapid  stroke.  But  history  has  accused  it  of  yielding  too  often 
to  the  temptation  of  misrepresenting  and  falsifying  its  pic- 
tures, and  this  even  in  the  hands  of  the  greatest  of  its  mas- 


274  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

ters.  *  Here  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  are  peculiar 
to  this  class.  In  every  respect  and  in  the  fatal  facility  with 
which  it  may  be  written,  it  is  upon  a  level  with  all  other 
prose  fiction. 

But  these  disadvantages,  notwithstanding  their  tendency 
to  repress  that  ardor  without  which  no  writer  can  hope  for 
success,  might  be  overlooked  by  the  Italian,  were  it  possible 
for  him  to  believe  that  this  might  be  rendered  more  subservi- 
ent to  the  cause  of  Italy  than  any  other  kind  of  composition, 
and  that  whatever  might  be  his  fate  as  a  writer,  he  would 
have  secured  the  gratification  of  contributing  something  to- 
wards the  future  prosperity  of  his  country.  But  he  cannot 
fail  to  perceive  how  inadequate  and  ill-calculated  such  an 
instrument  is  to  the  accomplishment  of  what  every  enlight- 
ened Italian  aspires  after.  Were  Italy  really  oppressed  with 
that  torpor  which  many  suppose,  scarce  anything  could  be 
better  adapted  to  rouse  her  than  that  exciting  mixture  of 
historic  truth  and  high  colored  fiction  which  acts  so  powerful- 
ly upon  the  warm  blood  of  the  south.  But  the  tragedies  of 
Alfieri  have  done  more  towards  forming  the  Italians  to  that 
stern  and  elevated  patriotism  which  is  essential  to  a  success- 
ful effort  for  freedom,  than  romance  ever  has  or  ever  could 
have  done ;  and  the  events  of  the  last  forty  years  have  scat- 
tered those  seeds,  which  even  though  they  fall  by  the  way 
side  or  upon  stony  ground,  never  fall  in  vain.  Italy  now 
requires  the  slow  but  certain  guidance  of  sober  history.  At 
the  side  of  those  passions  which  should  work  out  her  freedom, 

*  V.  Guizot,  Hist,  de  la  Civ.  en  Eur.  Lee.  7. 


HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN  ITALY.  275 

are  those  wild  and  fanciful  hopes,  which  if  left  to  their  free 
play  would  poison  all  its  sources.  It  is  only  by  chastening 
these  in  the  school  of  real  life,  that  so  fatal  a  catastrophe  can 
be  prevented.  Excitement  and  passion  have  done  their  part. 
If  reason  speaking  with  the  voice  of  experience  be  listened 
to,  they  will  not  have  done  it  in  vain.  Whatever  has  a  ten- 
dency to  work  upon  the  imagination  and  carry  excitement 
beyond  the  point  which  it  has  already  reached,  although  it 
may  hasten  the  moment  of  action  and  produce  by  a  convulsive 
effort  that  which  the  natural  course  of  events  is  inevitably 
bringing  about,  will  retard  for,  at  least,  another  century  the 
actual  progress  of  Italy  and  of  Europe. 

Thus  the  only  causes  which  seem  to  us  capable  of  moving 
the  minds  of  Italians  of  the  highest  order,  tend  to  confirm 
that  neglect  of  historical  romance  which  has  prevailed  at 
every  period  of  their  literary  history.  As  long  as  these 
remain  in  force,  so  long  will  the  success  of  this  school  be 
doubtful.  Literature  has  always  been  the  child  of  circum- 
stances, and  they  alone  of  her  followers  have  been  successful, 
who  have  known  when  to  yield  to  their  impulse  and  when 
to  temper  it.  For  the  last  twelve  years  there  has  been  a 
struggle  in  Italy,  between  the  state  of  things  which  we  have 
hastily  sketched  in  the  present  paper  and  the  enthusiasm 
kindled  by  the  romances  of  Scott.  Had  the  writer  who  is 
acknowledged  to  be  at  the  head  of  this  party,  been  endowed 
with  a  fertility  of  invention  proportioned  to  his  accuracy  of 
observation,  and  a  force  corresponding  to  the  delicacy  of  his 
genius,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conjecture  how  far  he  might 
have  succeeded  in  triumphing  over  the  obstacles  which  have 


276  HISTORICAL   ROMANCE   IN   ITALY. 

proved  fatal  to  the  cause  when  entrusted  to  the  hands  of  his 
followers.  As  it  is,  his  beautiful  production  stands  almost 
alone.  We  shall  endeavor,  in  another  paper  by  a  full  exam- 
ination of  the  work  of  Manzoni,  and  a  sketch  of  those  of  his 
disciples,  to  enable  our  readers  to  decide  for  themselves,  how 
far  we  are  right  in  the  opinions  which  we  have  ventured  to 
express  in  this. 


LIBRARIES. 


"  Qui  primus,  bibliothecara  dicando,  ingonia  hominum  rem  publicam  fecit." 

Pliny. 

M.  Balbi  has  long  been  advantageously  known  by  several 
works  of  great  merit,  upon  some  of  the  most  important  branches 
of  statistics  and  general  geography.  The  chief  part,  if  not 
the  whole  of  his  career,  as  an  author,  has  been  devoted  to 
profound  and  extensive  researches  upon  these  subjects ;  and 
the  reputation  which  he  enjoys  has  been  earned  by  long  and 
assiduous  labor. 

The  volume,  of  which  the  title  stands  at  the  head  of  the 
present  article,  is  one  of  the  most  recent  and  interesting  of 
his  publications.  Its  immediate  subject  is  a  description,  in 
part  historical  and  statistical,  and  in  part  bibliographical,  of 
the  public  and  private  libraries  of  Vienna.  In  the  course  of 
this,  M.  Balbi  has  entered  into  an  examination  of  the  literary 

*  1.  Essai  statistique  sur  les  Bibliotheques  de  Vienne,  par  Adrien  Bal- 
bi.    Vienne.     1835.    8vo. 

2.  Catalogue  de  la  Bibliotheque  de  son  Excellence,  M.  le  Comte  de 
Boutourlin.    Florence.     1831.    8vo. 

3.  Manuel  du  Libraire  et  de  1' Amateur  de  Livres,  par  J.  C.  Brunet. 
3me  ed.    Paris.     1820.    4  torn.     8vo. 

24 


278  LIBRARIES. 

and  numerical  value  of  the  principal  libraries  of  ancient  and 
modern  times,  and  given  a  succinct  and  lucid  exposition  of 
the  principles  upon  which  calculations  of  this  kind  should  be 
based.  The  inquiry  is  conducted  throughout  with  singular 
ability,  and  contains  several  new  and  striking  views.  It  is 
shown  that  the  Imperial  Library  of  Vienna,  regularly  increas- 
ing from  the  epoch  of  its  formation,  by  means  equally  honora- 
ble to  the  sovereign  and  to  the  nation,  held,  until  the  French 
revolution,  the  first  place  among  the  libraries  of  Europe. 
Since  that  period,  several  other  institutions  have  risen  to  a 
much  higher  numerical  rank.  Yet  the  progress  of  the  Impe- 
rial Library  has  never  been  interrupted ;  and  the  great  value 
of  several  of  the  private  collections,  which  have,  at  different 
epochs,  been  incorporated  with  it,  gives  it  a  decided  superiority 
over  many  others  of  much  greater  apparent  pretensions.  The 
other  public,  as  well  as  the  private  libraries  of  Vienna,  corres- 
pond to  the  high  character  of  the  principal  one. 

It  will  be  sufficiently  apparent  from  this  brief  sketch,  that  a 
large  portion  of  the  present  work  can  have  but  few  attractions 
for  the  American  reader.  That  part,  however,  which  is  de- 
voted to  a  comparative  examination  of  the  great  libraries  of 
ancient  and  modern  Europe,  and  an  explanation  of  the  princi- 
ples by  which  this  examination  has  been  conducted,  has  strong 
elaims  to  the  attention  of  all  those,  who  prefer  exact  details 
and  cautious  reasoning  to  careless  and  extravagant  conjec- 
tures. The  gross  errors,  which  still  prevail  upon  this  curious 
subject,  and  which,  through  the  ignorance  or  negligence  of  the 
compilers  of  many  of  the  books  of  reference,  as  well  as  of  the 
class-books  for  schools,  are  daily  becoming  more  extended 


LIBRARIES.  279 

and  deeper  rooted,  giye  these  claims  an  additional  force.  We 
propose,  therefore,  to  offer  our  readers  a  concise  analysis  of 
those  chapters  of  the  work  before  us,  which  treat  of  general 
bibliographical  statistics ;  and  shall  translate  or  abridge  the 
pages  of  M.  Balbi,  without  any  further  acknowledgment  than 
the  simple  avowal,  that  we  are  almost  wholly  indebted  to  him 
for  the  materials,  which  form  the  basis  of  the  first  part  of  the 
present  paper. 

No  one  of  the  libraries  of  the  first  class,  now  in  existence, 
dates  beyond  the  fifteenth  century.  The  Vatican,  the  origin 
of  which  has  been  frequently  carried  back  to  the  days  of  St. 
Hilarius,  in  465,  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be  said  to  have 
deserved  the  name  of  library  before  the  reign  of  Martin  the 
Fifth,  by  whose  order  it  was  removed  from  Avignon  to  Rome 
in  1417.  And  even  then,  a  strict  attention  to  the  force  of 
the  term  would  require  us  to  withhold  from  it  this  title, 
until  the  period  of  its  final  organization  by  Nicholas  the 
Fifth,  in  1447.*  It  is  difficult  to  speak  with  certainty  con- 
cerning the  libraries,  whether  public  or  private,  which  are 
supposed  to  have  existed  previous  to  the  fifteenth  century, 
both  on  account  of  the  doubtful  authority  and  indefiniteness 
of  the  passages  in  which  they  are  mentioned,  and  the  cus- 
tom which  so  readily  obtained,  in  those  dark  ages,  of  dig- 
nifying every  petty  collection  with  the  name  of  library. 
But  many  libraries  of  the  fifteenth  century  being  still  in 
existence,  and  others  having  been  preserved  long  enough  to 

*  An  interesting  account  of  the  early  history  of  the  Vatican  library 
may  be  found  in  Tiraboschi,  Storia  della  Letteratura  Italiana,  Tom.  VI. 
Lib.  I.  pp.  142  et  seq. 


280  LIBRARIES. 

make  them  the  subject  of  historical  inquiry  before  their  disso- 
lution, it  becomes  easier  to  fix,  with  satisfactory  accuracy,  the 
date  of  their  foundation.  We  find  accordingly,  that,  including 
the  Vatican,  and  the  libraries  of  Vienna,  Ratisbon,  and  the 
Laurentian  of  Florence,  which  are  a  few  years  anterior  to  it, 
no  less  than  ten  were  formed  between  the  years  1430  and 
1500.* 

The  increase  of  European  libraries  has  generally  been 
slowly  progressive,  although  there  have  been  periods  of  sudden 
augmentation  in  nearly  all.  Most  of  them  began  with  a  small 
number  of  manuscripts,  sometimes  with  a  few  printed  volumes, 
and  often  without  any.  To  these,  gradual  accessions  were 
made,  from  the  different  sources,  which  have  always  been 
more  or  less  at  the  command  of  the  sovereigns  and  nobles  of 
Europe.  In  1455,  the  Vatican  contained  5,000  manuscripts. 
In  1685,  after  an  interval  of  more  than  two  centuries,  the 
number  of  its  manuscripts  had  only  risen  to  16,000,  and  that 
of  the  printed  volumes  did  not  exceed  25,000.  In  1789,  but 
little  more  than  a  century  later,  the  number  of  manuscripts 
had  been  doubled,  and  the  printed  volumes  amounted  to 
40,000. 

Far  different  was  the  progress  of  the  Royal  Library  of  Paris. 
The  origin  of  this  institution  is  placed  in  the  year  1595,  the 
date  of  its  removal  from  Fontainebleau  to  Paris  by  order  of 
Henry  the  Fourth.     In  1660,  it  contained  but  1,435  printed 

*  These  were,  Turin,  the  University;  Cesena,  the  Malatestiana; 
Venice,  the  Marciana;  Oxford,  the  Bodleian;  Copenhagen,  the  Uni- 
versity ;  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  the  city.  The  Palatine  of  Heidelberg 
was  founded  in  1390,  dispersed  in  1623,  restored  in  1652,  augmented 
in  1816. 


LIBRARIES.  281 

volumes.  In  the  course  of  the  following  year,  this  number 
was  raised  to  16,746,  both  printed  volumes  and  manuscripts. 
During  the  ensuing  eight  years  the  library  was  nearly  doubled; 
and  before  the  close  of  the  next  century,  it  was  supposed 
to  have  been  augmented  by  upwards  of  100,000  volumes 
more. 

In  most  cases,  the  chief  sources  of  these  augmentations 
have  been  individual  legacies  and  the  purchase  of  private 
collections.  Private  libraries,  as  our  readers  are  well  aware, 
began  to  be  formed  long  before  public  ones  were  thought  of. 
Like  these,  they  have  their  origin  in  the  taste  or  caprice  or 
necessities  of  their  founders,  and  are  of  more  or  less  value, 
as  one  or  the  other  of  these  motives  has  presided  over  their 
formation.  But  when  formed  by  private  students  with  a  view 
to  bring  together  all  that  has  been  written  upon  some  single 
branch  of  science,  or  by  amateurs  skilled  in  the  principles 
of  bibliography,  they  become  more  satisfactory  and  complete 
than  they  could  possibly  be  made  under  any  other  circum- 
stances. Few  of  them,  however,  are  preserved  long  after 
the  death  of  the  original  collector;  but,  falling  into  the  hands' 
of  heirs  possessed  of  different  tastes  and  feelings,  are  either 
sold  off  by  auction  or  restored  to  the  shelves  of  the  book- 
seller. It  was  by  availing  themselves  of  such  opportunities, 
that  the  directors  of  the  public  libraries  of  Europe  made  their 
most  important  acquisitions.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  history  of 
the  Imperial  Library  of  Vienna ;  and  it  can  hardly  be  neces- 
sary to  add,  that  it  was  thus  that  the  rarest  and  most  valuable 
portions  of  that  collection  were  brought  together.*     It  is  thus 

*One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  these  purchases  was  that  made  of  the 
24* 


282  LIBRARIES. 

also,  that  the  Vatican  has  acquired,  within  the  last  few  years, 
by  the  purchase  of  the  library  of  Count  Cicognara,  a  body  of 
materials,  illustrative  of  the  history  of  the  arts,  which  leaves 
comparatively  little  to  be  wished  for,  by  the  most  diligent 
historian.  * 

It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  this  subject. 
Every  one  who  has  engaged,  even  in  a  small  degree,  in  his- 
torical researches,  must  have  observed  how  soon  he  gets  out 
of  the  track  of  common  readers,  and  how  dark  and  difficult 
his  way  becomes,  unless  he  chance  to  meet  with  some  guide 
among  those,  who,  confining  their  attention  to  a  single  branch 
of  study,  have  become  familiar  with  almost  every  thing, 
which  can  serve  to  throw  light  upon  it.  And  when  a  pub- 
lic institution  has  gone  on  through  a  long  course  of  years, 
adding  to  the  works  derived  from  other  sources  these  care- 
fully chosen  stores  of  the  learned,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  how 
much  it  will  contribute  not  merely  towards  the  full  gratifica- 
tion of  literary  curiosity,  but  to  the  actual  progress  of  litera- 
ture itself. 

But  these  opportunities  are  too  uncertain  to  be  relied  upon, 
as  they  are  too  important  to  be  suffered  to  escape,  when  they 
present  themselves.  The  principal  libraries  of  Europe  now 
depend  for  augmentation  upon  their  respective  endowments, 
and   upon   the  laws   made   by  government  in  their  favor. 

private  library  of  the  Prince  Eugene,  for  a  life  income  of  10,000  florins. 
It  was  composed  of  15,000  printed  volumes,  337  manuscripts,  290  folio 
volumes  of  prints,  and  215  portfolios  or  boxes. 

*  The  Count  Cicognara  is  well  known  by  his  elegant  and  learned 
history  of  sculpture.  The  catalogue  of  his  library,  published  by  himself, 
numbers  4,800  articles.     It  Was  sold  for  20,000  dollars. 


LIBRARIES.  283 

The  latter  secure  them  an  annual  increase  in  exact  proportion 
to  the  activity  of  the  press,  in  the  country  to  which  the  insti- 
tution belongs.  In  France,  every  publisher  is  bound  by  law 
to  deposit  at  the  Royal  Library  a  certain  number  of  copies  of 
every  work  that  issues  from  his  press.  A  similar  law  entitles 
the  Imperial  Library  of  Vienna  to  one  copy  of  whatever  is 
published  within  the  Austrian  dominions.  Thus  the  annual 
increase  of  these  institutions  is  not  only  immense,  but  keeps 
pace  with  the  progress  of  the  press,  and  is  gradually  trans- 
forming them  into  permanent  depositories  of  the  annual  intel- 
lectual harvest  of  the  nation.  Could  this  law  have  been  en- 
forced from  the  first  moment  of  the  invention  of  printing,  how 
many  curious  points  in  literature,  how  many  important  ques- 
tions in  history,  which  are  now  perplexing  and  obscure,  would 
be  placed  in  a  clear  and  instructive  light  by  the  authority  of 
full  and  incontrovertible  documents !  But  the  augmentations 
derived  from  this  source  can  only  extend  to  national  litera- 
ture, and  to  such  foreign  works  as  are  reprinted  by  native 
booksellers.*  The  greater  and  more  valuable  part  of  new 
foreign  works  can  only  be  obtained  by  purchase.  Hence  arises 
the  necessity  of  an  extensive  fund,  and  the  equally  great 
necessity  of  using  it  judiciously.     The  following  table,  which 

*  It  may  be  not  amiss  to  observe,  that,  as  far  as  France  is  concerned, 
the  number  of  these  last  is  very  large.  Nearly  all  the  fashionable  English 
literature,  and  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  more  important  new 
English  works,  together  with  the  newly  prepared  editions  of  American 
standard  classics,  are  republished  by  two  or  three  rival  houses  in  Paris 
before  they  are  dry  from  the  press  in  England.  The  same  is  done  with 
some  German  and  Spanish  works,  and  with  almost  all  the  new  works  of 
Italy.  Brussels  plays  off  upon  the  French  booksellers  the  turn  which 
they  play  upon  the  English. 


284 


LIBRARIES. 


we  translate  from  M.  Balbi,  shows  the  annual  appropriations 
of  some  of  the  principal  libraries  of  Europe.  As  he  was  not 
able  to  state  with  certainty  the  exact  annual  expenditure  of 
the  Royal  Library  of  Paris,  he  has  given  that  of  the  cabinet  of 
prints  which  is  attached  to  it.  This  will  help  us  to  form  some 
idea  of  the  sum  allotted  to  the  other  departments. 

Comparative  View  of  the  Annual  Expenditure  of  some  of  the 
principal  libraries  of  Europe. 

Francs. 

.     75,000 

47,500 
.     29,680 

25,000 
,     20,000 

14,000 
,     10,385 

10,000 

,       5,000 

5,000 

Cabinet  of  Prints  of  the  Royal  Library  of  Paris,      .     15,000 


Bodleian, 

Oxford, 

Imperial, 

Vienna,     . 

Royal, 

Berlin, 

Advocates', 

Edinburgh, 

University, 

Gottingen, 

Royal, 

Madrid,     . 

University, 

Bologna, 

Royal, 

Dresden, 

University, 

Padua, 

Marcian, 

Venice, 

We  add  the  following  table  to  render  the  view  of  the  state 
of  these  institutions  more  complete. 

Table  of  the  Officers  employed  in  the  Imperial  Library  of  Vien- 
na, with  their  respective  Salaries. 

Salary  in  Francs. 


Titles. 

Prefect  or  Inspector, 

First  Keeper,  with  the  title  of  Aulic  Counsellor, 

Second  Keeper, * 

Third,        " 

Fourth,      " 

First  Under  Keeper, 

Second  " 

Third,  " 

Fourth,  " 

Aspirant,         "  

Three  Attendants,  each  one, 


12,500 
10,550 
5,000 
3,500 
2,500 
2,250 
2,000 
1,750 
1,500 
1,000 
600 


LIBRARIES.  285 

In  trying  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  comparative  value  of 
libraries,  we  cannot  but  be  struck  with  the  unsatisfactory  na- 
ture of  the  numerical  calculations  on  which  we  are  constrained 
to  found  it.  What  idea  can  be  formed  of  the  value  of  any 
given  library,  by  the  mere  comparison  of  the  number  of  vol- 
umes which  it  contains,  with  that  of  any  other  ?  There  are 
probably  but  few  of  our  readers,  who  cannot  recall,  within  the 
circle  of  their  own  observation,  some  instance  of  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  numbers  as  the  elements  of  such  a  comparison. 
Thus  far,  however,  no  other  has  been  discovered ;  and  the  ju- 
dicious reader  must  trust  to  his  own  experience  and  judgment 
for  giving  due  weight  to  all  those  circumstances,  which  may 
be  justly  supposed  to  affect  the  real  value  of  libraries  almost 
numerically  equal. 

But,  after  we  have  once  fixed  upon  numbers  as  the  basis 
of  our  calculations,  we  seem  to  be  almost  as  far  from  the 
mark  as  ever.  Even  if  there  had  been  a  special  effort  on  the 
part  of  all  the  writers,  who  have  touched  upon  this  subject,  to 
involve  it  in  doubt  and  perplexity,  they  could  not  have  suc- 
ceeded more  fully,  than  they  have  done  while  pretending  to 
elucidate  it.  The  question  is  so  curious,  and  displays  in  so 
strong  a  light  the  danger  of  relying  upon  careless  compilers 
and  credulous  travellers,  that  we  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
of  translating  a  part  of  the  interesting  chapter,  which  M.  Balbi 
has  devoted  to  it. 

"  This  portion  of  comparative  statistics,"  says  M.  Balbi,  "  is  in  very 
much  the  same  state,  in  which  the  subject  of  population  remained 
during  the  second  half  of  the  last  century.  We  possess  only  approxi- 
mative data  concerning  the  libraries  which  are  best  known,  while  the 


286  LIBRARIES. 

most  contradictory  opinions  are  hazarded  with  regard  to  all  others.  The 
natives  of  a  country  often  repeat  without  examination  the  exaggerated 
statements  of  some  unscrupulous  librarian,  who,  without  troubling 
himself  about  the  truth  of  his  assertions,  seeks  only  to  raise  the  credit 
of  his  library  by  exaggerating  the  number  of  its  volumes.  A  similar 
confidence  is  often  given  to  those  traditional  estimates,  by  which  the 
grossest  of  all  the  errors,  which  prevail  upon  this  subject,  are  handed 
down  from  father  to  son.  Nor  is  this  all ;  but  men,  excited  by  a  mix- 
ture of  personal  and  national  pride,  and  relying  upon  calculations,  which 
they  have  made  upon  a  false  principle,  frequently  accuse  of  ignorance, 
or  of  inexactness,  the  conscientious  writer,  who,  after  a  careful  compari- 
son of  the  best  authorities,  has  ventured  to  advance  an  opinion  different 
from  theirs.  Men  of  learning  often  pursue  the  same  course;  and, 
though  wholly  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  statistical  calculations,  and 
the  varied  information  which  they  require,  boldly  reject  the  estimates, 
which  have  been  obtained  through  official  sources,  or  which  are  the 
result  of  the  long  and  laborious  researches  of.  men  both  conscientious 
and  learned. 

"  One  of  the  principal  causes  of  the  astonishing  diversity  of  opinions, 
which  prevail  upon  the  subject  of  libraries,  is  the  difference  in  the 
methods,  which  have  been  adopted  by  different  writers,  for  estimating 
the  literary  wealth  of  the  same  library.  One  counts  only  the  printed 
volumes.  Another  adds  the  manuscripts.  A  third  fixes  at  a  certain 
number  of  volumes  the  essays  and  pamphlets,  which  are  preserved  in 
portfolios,  or  stitched  together,  all  of  which  had  been  excluded  from 
the  first  estimate.  An  adherence  to  this  principle  brings  into  another 
list  all  the  scattering  prints  and  maps,  which,  as  they  belong  to  no  par- 
ticular work,  could  not  be  reckoned  among  printed  volumes.  Nor  does 
the  difference  cease  here ;  for,  while  some  writers,  adopting  an  entirely 
new  method,  raise  their  table  to  a  formidable  array  of  ciphers,  by  count- 
ing as  separate  volumes  every  pamphlet,  which  the  library  may  chance 
to  contain,  others  strike  off  a  large  portion  from  the  sum  thus  obtained, 
rejecting  in  their  enumeration  all  duplicate  copies,  of  whatever  kind 


LIBRARIES.  287 

they  may  be.  These  various  methods  of  estimation  should  be  care- 
fully distinguished  from  the  first-mentioned  errors,  by  which  the  mis- 
takes of  travellers,  and  of  men  of  learning  unacquainted  with  statis- 
tics, are  repeated  and  propagated  by  the  ignorance  or  negligence  of 
compilers. 

*  It  is  very  much  with  the  wealth  of  libraries,  as  with  the  population 
of  some  of  the  cities  of  Asia  and  Africa,  in  speaking  of  which  a  more 
accurate  census,  and  the  criticisms  of  competent  judges,  have  reduced 
the  millions  of  inhabitants,  to  a  few  hundred  thousand.  Thus  the  re- 
cent catalogues  of  some  libraries,  on  an  examination  of  them  by  travel- 
lers or  librarians  familiar  with  the  principles  of  statistics,  have  reduced 
by  a  third,  or  a  half,  and  sometimes  even  by  nine-tenths,  the  ridiculous 
exaggerations,  which  still  continue  to  disgrace  many  works  of  high  and 
well-merited  celebrity.  =* 

"  Previously  to  the  Revolution,  the  Eoyal  Library  of  Paris  was  sup- 
posed to  contain  from  three  to  five  hundred  thousand  volumes.  An 
intelligent  and  judicious  writer,  the  late  M.  Barbier,  had,  in  a  work 
published  in  1805,  reduced  them  to  two  hundred  thousand.!  But  M. 
Van  Praet,  the  present  librarian,  who,  in  the  year  1791,  had  counted  the 
whole  library  volume  by  volume,  had  found  only  152,868  volumes,  viz. : 
23,243  folios,  41,373  quartos,  88,252  octavos  and  books  of  smaller  size. 

"  We  had  always  heard  the  Library  of  St.  Mark  in  Venice  estimated 
at  150,000  volumes,  and  consequently  supposed,  that,  by  stating  it  at 
90,000  in  our  work  upon  the  'statistics  of  Portugal,'  published  in  1822, 
we  could  not  be  far  from  the  truth.  But,  on  our  return  to  Venice  in 
the  same  year,  we  were  assured  by  its  learned  librarian,  the  Abbe  Bettio, 
that  it  actually  contained  only  65,000  printed  volumes  and  5,000  manu- 
scripts. Yet,  as  late  as  1832,  we  have  seen  more  than  twice  that  number 
assigned  to  it  by  a  statistical  writer  of  high  rank." — pp.  45-48. 

*  An  instance  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  Tabular  View  of  Libraries 
in  one  of  the  best  school  books  ever  written ;  Woodbridge's  General 
Geography. 

"  fL'Annuaire  administratif  et  statistique  du  Departement  de  la  Seine, 
pour  FAn  XIII.  (1805.)" 


288 


LIBRARIES. 


This  subject  will  become  still  clearer,  by  a  glance  at  a  few 
passages  from  the  table  of  comparative  estimates,  which  M. 
Balbi  has  compiled  with  singular  patience  and  industry.* 

*  Comparative  Table  of  the  principal  Opinions  published  with 
Regard  to  the  Number  of  Volumes  contained  in  some  cele- 
brated Libraries. 

Paris,  Royal  or  National  Library. 


Authors. 

Ebert, 
Petit-Radel, 
British  Review, 
Malchus, 
Andre, 

Volumes.                  Manuscripts. 

350,000              70,000 
350,000               50,000 
450,000               80,000 
500,000               50,000 
800,000               50,000 

Mazarine  Library. 

Pamphlets. 

350,000 
450,000 

Malchus, 
Boismarsas, 

90,000                3,437 
150,000                 4,000 

Madrid,  Royal  Library. 

Villenave, 
Haendel, 
Hassel, 
Malchus, 

100,000                a  great  many. 

125,000 

180,000 

200,000                 2,000 

The  Escurial. 

Bisinger, 

Ebert, 

Moreau  de  Jonnes, 

60,000 

17,800                4,300 

130,000               15,000 

Rome,  Vatican. 

Schnabel, 

Ebert, 

Valery, 

30,000                4,000 
30,000              40,000 
80,000               24,000 

*  In  the  original  this  table  fills  ten  octavo  pages.  We  have  confined 
our  extract  to  such  heads  as  we  supposed  most  likely  to  prove  interesting 
to  the  American  reader. 


LIBRARIES. 

Authors. 

Volumes. 

Manuscripts, 

Malchus, 

160,000 

Bailly* 

400,000 

50,000 

D'Haussez, 

800,000 

38,000 

Eustace,  from 

200,000  ) 
to  a  million  !  ) 

Quarterly  Revi 

ew,     largest  in  the  world ! 

Florence,  Laurentian-I 

Ebert, 

8,000 

Andre, 

5,000 

Hassel, 

20,000 

Malchus, 

120,000 

Bailly, 

90,000 

3,000 

Oxford,  Bodleian. 

Meidinger, 

130,000 

20,000 

Quart.  Rev. 

over  200,000 

Ebert, 

300,000 

25,000 

Bailly, 

400,000 

25,000 

Andre 

500,000 

30,000 

Schnabel, 

700,000 

30,000 

Oxford  Guide, 

more  than  an] 

r  library  ir 

289 


Pamphlets. 


the  Vatican."  —  pp.  35—43. 

After  having  thus  pointed  out  the  errors  and  inconsistencies 
into  which  his  predecessors  have  fallen,  M.  Balbi  proceeds  to 
give  the  result  of  his  own  inquiries,  in  a  new  estimate  of  the 
principal  libraries  of  ancient  and  modern  times.  This  table  is 
evidently  the  product  of  long  and  laborious  researches.  He 
has  availed  himself,  for  the  composition  of  it,  of  all  the  faciH- 

"*  Journal  de  la  Societe  Francaise  de  Statisque  Universelle." 
"  t  It  should  be  remembered  that  this  celebrated  library  contains  man- 
uscripts only.  Hence  a  double  error  on  the  part  of  the  above  cited 
authors.  It  was  only  by  the  recent  legacy  of  the  Count  d'Elci,  thai  it 
became  possesssd  of  printed  works,  which,  however,  are  exclusively 
composed  of  editions  of  the  fifteenth  century/'  and  have  not  yet  been 
placed  in  the  Library. 

25 


290 


LIBRARIES. 


ties,  which  an  extensive  correspondence  could  afford,  and  has 
thus  been  able  to  draw  his  information,  in  several  cases,  from 
direct  official  sources.  In  others,  his  familiarity  with  statistical 
calculations,  and  his  personal  knowledge  of  many  of  the  insti- 
tutions of  which  he  speaks,  afford  the  best  assurance  of  the 
general  correctness  of  his  assertions. 


"  Comparative    View  of  the  Great  Libraries  of  Ancient  and 
Modern  Times. 


Cities. 

Paris, 

Munich, 

St.  Petersburgh, 

Copenhagen, 

Vienna, 

Berlin, 

Pekin, 

Dresden, 

Gottingen, 

London, 

Oxford, 

Wolfenbiittel, 

Madrid, 

Paris, 

Stuttgart, 

Milan, 

Naples, 

Florence, 

Breslaw, 

Munich, 

Edinburgh, 

Jedo, 

Miako, 


"*In  this  number  the  19,093  charters,  diplomas,  and  original  docu- 
ments are  not  comprised." 

t  It  will  be  observed  that  an  interrogative  point  is  affixed  to  those 
numbers  which  M.  Balbi  considers  doubtful. 


Libraries. 

Volumes. 

Manuscripts. 

Royal, 

624,000 

80,000 

Royal  or  Central 

540,000 

16,000 

Imperial, 

432,000 

15,000  (?) 

Royal, 

410,000 

16,000  (?) 

Imperial, 

284,000 

16,000 

Royal, 

280,000 

5,000 

Imperial, 

280,000 

Royal, 

260,000 

2,700 

University, 

250,000 

5,000 

British  Museum, 

220,000 

*22,000 

Bodleian, 

200,000 

25,000 

Ducal, 

200,000  (?)t  4,500 

Royal, 

200,000 

2,500  (?) 

Arsenal, 

186,000 

5,000 

Royal, 

174,000 

1,800 

Brera, 

169,000 

1,000 

Bourbon  Museum, 

165,000 

3,000 

Magliabecchiana, 

150,000 

12,000 

University, 

150,000 

2,300 

University, 

.  150,000 

'  2,000  (?) 

Advocates', 

150,000 

6,000 

Sjogoun, 

150,000  (?) 

i 

Mikado, 

150,000  (?) 

i 

LIBRARIES.  291 

Cities.  Libraries.  Volumes.  Manuscripts. 

Alexandria,  the  largest  of  the  )  ^q  qqq  ,^\ 

Ptolemean  libraries,  )  ^ 

Tripoli  in  Syria,  Kadis,  110,000  (?) 

Cairo,  Caliphs,  110,000  (?) 

Alexandria  library,*  destroyed,  )  100  000  ft?} 
by  the  Arabs,  J  * '  ' 

Rome,  Ulpian,  founded  by  Trajan,  100,000  (??) 

Cordova,  Caliphs,  100,000  (??)"  —  p.  71. 

Some  surprise  will  be  felt  upon  viewing  the  rank  assigned 
in  the  preceding  table  to  the  libraries  of  Japan.  The  esti- 
mates of  our  author  are,  in  this  instance,  derived  from  the 
statements  of  a  recent  traveller,  M.  Siebold,  whom  he  honors 
with  the  appellation  of  "  learned  and  conscientious."  These 
libraries,  according  to  M.  Siebold,  are  divided  among  the 
princes,  the  nobles,  and  the  monasteries.  Besides  the  works 
printed  within  the  empire,  they  contain  a  large  number  of 
ancient  and  modern  Chinese  books,  together  with  many  rare 
manuscripts  in  Japanese  and  Chinese,  maps,  topographical 
plans,  and  sketches  in  natural  history.  There  are  also,  in  the 
libraries  of  some  amateurs,  extensive  collections  of  European 
books,  chiefly  of  a  scientific  character,  and  for  the  most  part 
in  Dutch.  The  activity  of  the  press  in  that  country  is  aston- 
ishing, but  nevertheless,  as  would  seem  from  the  work  of  M. 
Siebold,  unequal  to  the  productive  power  of  the  authors ;  for, 
in  one  of  the  royal  libraries,  may  be  seen  a  modern  work  upon 
the  natural  history  of  the  empire,  of  which  the  plates  alone 
would  fill  800  volumes. 

*  In  admitting  the  third  Alexandrian  library  into  this  tahle,  M.  Balbi 
has  not  done  justice  to  his  own  knowledge  of  the  subject.  It  seems 
impossible  that  any  one  who  has  read  the  XXVIII.  and  LI.  chapters  of 
Gibbon  should  place  the  least  confidence  in  so  absurd  and  ill-supported 
a  tale. 


292  LIBRARIES. 

But  we  should  be  guilty  of  great  injustice  towards  our  au- 
thor, were  we  to  pass  over  the  ninth  chapter  of  his  volume, 
in  which  he  has  explained  at  length  the  process,  which  he  has 
followed  in  the  formation  of  his  comparative  estimate.  The 
reasoning  refers  more  particularly  to  the  Royal  Library  of 
Paris,  the  claim  of  which  to  the  first  rank  among  all  the  libra- 
ries of  the  world  has  been  disputed. 

In  the  year  1822,  this  library  contained,  according  to  MM. 
Van  Praet  and  De  Mane,  keepers   of  the   printed   books, 

450,000  volumes, 

450,000  pamphlets,  essays,  and  fugitive  pieces,  bound  up  in 
volumes,  or  distributed  in  portfolios  or  drawers. 
80,000  manuscripts,  inclusive   of  the  printed   works   in 
Chinese. 
1,200,000  charters,  diplomas,  etc. 

6,000  volumes  and  portfolios,  containing  1,200,000  prints. 

Now  in  order  to  estimate  these  different  elements,  we  will 
suppose : 

1st.  That  each  manuscript  forms  a  volume,  such  being  the 
usual  method  of  estimating  this  portion  of  the  literary  wealth 
of  public  libraries. 

2d.  That  every  ten  pamphlets  or  fugitive  pieces,  taken  to- 
gether, form  a  volume.  This  is  a  moderate  calculation ;  for  an 
ordinary  octavo  contains  only  from  sixteen  to  eighteen  sheets. 

3d.  That  fifty  charters,  diplomas,  etc.,  taken  together,  form 
a  volume. 

By  means  of  these  reductions  we  shall  find  that  450,000 
pamphlets,  etc.,  are  equivalent  to  45,000  volumes.  1,200,000 
diplomas,  charters,  etc.,  are  equivalent  to  24,000  volumes. 
Taking  the  manuscripts,  and  the  6,000  volumes  and  portfolios 


LIBRARIES.  293 

of  prints  for  an  equal  number  of  volumes,  we  find  that  in  1822 
the  Royal  Library  of  Paris  contained : 

450,000  volumes  of  all  sizes. 

45,000         "  in  pamphlets,  etc. 

24,000         "  in  diplomas,  etc. 

80,000         "  of  manuscripts. 

6,000         "  of  prints,  engravings,  etc. 


605,000 

At  the  same  epoch  the  annual  increase  of  the  library,  as  re- 
ported by  MM.  Van  Praet  and  De  Mane,  amounted  to  about 
4,000  volumes,  and  3,000  fugitive  pieces,  pamphlets,  etc., 
printed  in  France,  and  about  3,000  volumes  purchased  at 
public  sales  or  abroad. 

Since  1822,  there  has  been  a  great  increase  in  the  activity 
of  the  French  press.  The  following  table,  formed  by  a  com- 
parison of  the  Journal  de  la  Librairie  of  M.  Beuchot,  with  the 
manuscript  catalogue  of  the  books,  pamphlets,  etc.,  deposited 
at  the  Royal  Library,  shows  the  progress  of  this  augmentation 
of  activity,  and  supplies  the  data  for  an  approximative  calcu- 
lation of  the  increase  of  the  library  through  the  channel  of  the 
French  press.  This  extends,  however,  only  to  the  third  quar- 
ter of  1828,  the  last  time  that  our  author  had  it  in  his  power  to 
consult  the  catalogue  of  the  library.  The  estimate  for  the  sub- 
sequent period  is  derived  from  an  approximative  calculation, 
based  upon  the  proportion,  which  the  products  of  the  French 
press,  as  recorded  in  the  Journal  de  la  Librairie,  bear  to  the 
same  products  as  registered  during  the  correspondent  years  in 
the  catalogue  of  the  Royal  Library.  The  facts  contained  in 
the  second  and  third  columns  of  the  table  form  the  elements 

25* 


294  LIBRARIES. 

of  his  calculation,  and  the  basis  of  the  inductions  that  he  draws 
from  it. 

Table  of  the  Articles  printed  in  France. 


Number  of  Articles. 

Recorded  in  the  "  Jour- 

Entered 

on  the  Catalogue 

Year. 

nal  de  la  Librairie." 

of  the  Royal  Library. 

First  Period. 

1822 

6,893 

7,016 

1823 

7,213 

6,900 

1824 

8,337 

7,994 

1825 

8,971 

8,723 

1826 

9,754 

10,655 

1827 

9,800 

16,744 

of  the  first 

period,      50,968 

58,032 

Second  Period. 

1828 

9,022 

1829 

9,027 

1830 

8,456 

1831 

7,390 

1832 

7,577 

1833 

8,060 

Sum  of  both  periods,        100,500 

Now  we  will  say;  as  50,968,  the  sum  of  the  works  announc- 
ed by  the  Journal  de  la  Librairie,  during  the  six  years,  which 
form  the  first  period,  to  58,032,  the  number  representing  the 
works  entered  upon  the  catalogue  of  the  library  during  the 
same  years,  —  so  100,500,  the  sum  of  the  works  announced 
in  the  same  "  Journal,"  during  the  first  and  second  periods,  to 
the  number  x  of  works  entered  upon  the  catalogue  during  both 


LIBRARIES.  295 

periods  taken  together,  or  from  1822,  through  all  1833.  This 
proportion  gives  us  x  =  114,800. 

Now,  adopting  the  supposition  of  M.  De  Mane,  that  the 
number  of  the  pamphlets  and  fugitive  pieces  is  equal  to  that 
of  the  volumes ;  and  that  these  last  form  half  of  the  annual 
product  of  the  press;  and  supposing,  as  has  already  been 
shown  by  a  calculation  to  be  more  than  probable,  that  the  to- 
tality of  the  works  or  articles  deposited  at  the  library  from  the 
beginning  of  1822,  to  the  31st  of  December,  1833,  amounted 
in  round  numbers  to  115,000,  we  shall  have  half  this  sum,  or 
57,500,  for  the  number  of  volumes,  and  57,500  for  the  number 
of  pamphlets  and  fugitive  pieces,  taken  separately.  Dividing 
these  last  by  ten,  we  shall  have  5,750  volumes  to  bfe  added  to 
the  first  sum. 

It  has  already  been  shown,  that,  at  the  beginning  of  1822, 
the  Royal  Library  contained  605,000  volumes.  In  order  to 
ascertain  its  actual  state  (i.  e.  in  1835,)  we  will  say, 

Volumes. 

in  1822, 605,000 

augmentation  by  means  of  public  sales  and  purchases 

from  abroad,       .         .         .         ...         .         .     36,000 

augmentation  through  the  French  press,  offering  57,- 
500  volumes  of  works,  and  5,750  volumes  of  pamph- 
lets, amounting  in  all  to  63,250,  or  in  round  numbers     63,000 


704,000 


This  number  should  be  raised  to  706,000  on  account  of  the 
increase  in  the  department  of  prints.  * 

*For  an  account  of  this  augmentation,  see  "Bibliotheque  Universelle 
de  Geneve."  1834. 


296  LIBRARIES. 

The  Royal  Library  of  Paris,  therefore,  is  the  largest  in  ex- 
istence. It  will  be  easy  to  prove,  that  it  is  the  largest  that 
ever  has  existed. 

The  number  of  writers,  and  consequently  of  books,  in  the 
bright  days  of  Egypt,  of  Greece,  and  of  Eome,  could  not 
have  been  very  great.  It  must,  on  the  contrary,  have  been 
limited  by  various  causes,  which  contributed  powerfully  to  re- 
tard the  composition  of  new  works,  and  prevent  the  multipli- 
cation of  new  editions.  In  fact,  the  histories  of  cities  and  of 
nations,  together  with  descriptions  of  the  earth,  which  have 
become  exhaustless  sources  for  the  writers  of  modern  times, 
must  have  been  but  sterile  themes,  at  a  period  in  which  his- 
tory was  confined  within  the  limits  of  a  few  centuries,  and 
hardly  a  sixth  part  of  the  world,  now  known,  had  been  discov- 
ered. Add  to  these  considerations,  the  difficulties  of  commu- 
nication, by  which  the  inhabitants  of  different  countries,  and 
often  those  of  different  sections  of  the  same  country,  were 
kept  apart ;  together  with  the  number  of  arts  and  sciences, 
which  were  either  wholly  unknown,  or  confined  within  very 
narrow  bounds ;  and  it  will  become  evident,  that,  for  every 
thirty  or  forty  authors  of  the  present  day,  ancient  Europe 
could  hardly  have  produced  one  or  two. 

Another  circumstance,  which,  however,  has  escaped  the 
attention  of  M.  Balbi,  is  the  undeniable  fact,  that  an  in- 
crease in  the  number  of  readers  leads  to  a  proportionate  aug- 
mentation in  the  number  of  works  prepared  for  their  gratifi- 
cation. We  have  every  reason  to  suppose,  that  the  reading 
class  of  the  ancient  world  was  small  in  comparison  with  that 
of  the  modern.     Even  setting  aside  the  circumstance  of  the 


LIBRARIES.  297 

narrow  limits,  by  which  the  creative  literature  of  ancient  Eu- 
rope was  bounded,  Greece  and  Rome  being  almost  the  only 
nations  whence  new  productions  were  derived,  we  shall  still 
be  constrained  to  acknowledge  the  vast  distance,  which  sepa- 
rates the  creative  literary  power  of  modern,  from  that  of  an- 
cient times.  Our  schools,  which  abound  with  such  a  variety 
of  class-books  upon  every  subject,  bear  little  or  no  resemblance 
to  those  of  Greece  and  Rome ;  nor  can  the  text-books  pre- 
pared for  our  universities  be  brought  into  comparison  with 
the  oral  instructions  of  the  old  philosophers.  Passing  by,  also, 
the  subjects  which  have  been  opened  to  our  research  by  the 
discoveries  of  modern  science,  and  confining  our  attention  to 
the  single  branch  of  philosophy,  in  the  old  sense  of  the  word, 
which  has  always  been  more  or  less  studied  and  disputed 
upon,  since  the  earliest  Greeks,  we  shall  probably  find  that 
the  productions  of  any  one  modern  school  outnumber  those 
of  the  whole  body  of  Greek  philosophers.  How  much  more 
would  the  balance  lean  towards  the  moderns,  were  we  to  add 
all  the  varieties  of  tUe  French,  and  German,  and  English, 
and  Scottish  schools,  to  say  nothing  of  those  whose  tenacious 
subtiltjes  have  procured  them  the  name  of  schoolmen !  If, 
going  a  step  further,  we  consider  that  reading,  which  the 
peculiar  cast  of  modern  civilization  has  classed  among  the 
luxuries  of  life,  is  one  of  those  luxuries,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
which  all  classes  come  in  for  a  share,  we  shall  find  here  also 
a  great  distinction  between  ancient  times  and  our  own.  Du- 
ring that  epoch  of  splendid  decay,  in  which  the  immense 
wealth  of  the  Roman  senators  was  found  insufficient  to  satisfy 
the  longing  for  new  forms  of  stimulant  and  of  pleasure,  their 


298 


LIBRARIES. 


reading,  as  we  are  told  by  a  contemporary  historian,*  was 
confined  to  Marius  Maximus  and  Juvenal.  What  would  they 
not  have  given  for  a  modern  novel,  or  to  what  unlimited  ex- 
tent would  not  the  imagination  have  poured  forth  its  fantastic 
creations,  had  the  art  of  printing  been  at  hand  to  keep  pace 
with  the  productive  powers  of  the  mind,  and  the  cravings  of  a 
morbid  intellect !  On  every  score,  therefore,  the  numerical 
difference  between  the  intellectual  wealth  of  ancient  and  of 
modern  Europe,  which  is  the  only  point  in  question,  must 
have  been  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  latter. 

The  high  price  of  the  materials  for  writing,  and  the  diffi- 
culty of  procuring  them,  must  also  have  been  a  great  obstacle 
to  the  multiplication  of  books.  When  copies  could  only  be 
procured  by  the  slow  and  expensive  process  of  transcription, 
it  seems  impossible  to  suppose  that  a  large  number  could  have 
been  usually  prepared  of  any  ordinary  work.  Those  of  our 
readers,  who  are  aware  that  only  about  four  hundred  and  fifty, 
upon  an  average,  were  struck  off  of  the  celebrated  Princeps 
editions,  will  readily  assent  to  the  correctness  of  this  opinion. 
The  barbarous  system  of  ancient  warfare  must  have  also 
caused  the  destruction  of  a  great  many  works,  raised  the  price 
of  others,  and  rendered  extremely  difficult,  not  to  say  impossi- 
ble, the  accumulation  of  a  very  large  number  in  any  one  place. 
The  difficulties,  which  the  bibliomaniacs  of  our  own  times 
encounter  in  procuring  copies  of  the  editions  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  the  extravagant  prices,  at  which  some  of  them 
have  been  sold,  are  enough  to  show  how  small  a  part  of  an 
entire  edition  has  been  able  to  pass  safely  through  the  short 

*  Ammianus  Marcellinus. 


LIBRARIES.  299 

space  of  four  centuries,  which  is  all  that  has  elapsed  since  their 
publication.  How  few  copies,  then,  of  a  work  published  in  the 
times  of  Alexander,  could  have  reached  the  age  of  Augustus 
or  of  Trajan !  With  facts  like  these  before  us,  how  can  we 
talk  of  libraries  of  700,000  or  800,000  volumes  in  the  ancient 
world  ?  When  we  find  it  so  difficult,  at  the  present  day,  in 
spite  of  the  testimony  of  intelligent  travellers,  and  of  all  the 
advantages  we  possess  for  making  our  estimates,  to  ascertain 
the  truth  with  regard  to  the  great  libraries  of  modern  Europe, 
how  can  we  give  credit  to  the  contradictory  and  exaggerated 
statements,  which  were  promulgated  in  ages  of  the  darkest 
ignorance,  concerning  ancient  Rome  and  Alexandria?  "Af- 
ter an  attentive  examination  of  this  subject,"  says  our  author, 
"  it  seems  to  us  improbable,  if  we  should  not  rather  say,  im- 
possible, that  any  library  of  ancient  Europe,  or  of  the  middle 
ages,  could  have  contained  more  than  300,000  or  400,000 
volumes." 

But  even  allowing  700,000  volumes  to  the  largest  of  the 
Alexandrian  libraries,  that,  namely,  of  which  a  great  part  was 
accidentally  destroyed  during  the  wars  of  Julius  Caesar;  allow- 
ing the  same  number  to  the  library  of  Tripoli,  and  to  that  of 
Cairo ;  and  admitting  that  the  third  library  of  Alexandria  con- 
tained 600,000  volumes,  and  the  Ulpian  of  Rome,  and  the  Cor- 
dovan founded  by  Al-Hakem,  an  equal  number;  it  will  still  be 
easy  to  show,  that  the  whole  amount  of  one  of  these  was  not 
equal  to  even  a  fifth  part  of  a  library  composed  of  printed  books. 

Every  one,  who  has  had  anything  to  do  with  publication,  is 
well  aware  of  the  great  difference  between  the  space  occupied 
by  the  written,  and  that  occupied  by  the  printed  letters. 


300  LIBRARIES. 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  volumes  of  ancient  libraries  con- 
sisted of  rolls,  which  generally  were  written  only  on  one  side. 
Thus  the  written  surface  of  one  of  these  volumes  would  cor- 
respond to  but  half  the  printed  surface  of  one  of  our  books,  of 
which  every  page  is  covered  with  letters.  A  library,  then, 
composed  of  100,000  rolls,  would  contain  no  more  matter  than 
one  of  our  libraries  composed  of  50,000  manuscripts. 

It  is  well  known,  also,  that  a  work  was  divided  into  as  many 
rolls,  as  the  books  which  it  contained.  Thus  the  Natural  His- 
tory of  Pliny,  which  in  the  Princeps  edition  of  Venice  forms 
but  one  folio  volume,  would,  since  it  is  divided  into  thirty- 
seven  books,  have  formed  thirty-seven  rolls  or  volumes.  If 
it  were  possible  to  compare  elements  of  so  different  a  nature, 
we  should  say  that  these  rolls  might  be  compared  to  the 
sheets  of  our  newspapers,  or  to  the  numbers  of  works  publish- 
ed in  numbers.  What  would  become  of  the  great  library  of 
Paris,  were  we  to  suppose  its  706,000  volumes  in  folio,  octavo, 
etc.,  to  be  but  so  many  numbers  of  five  or  six  sheets  each  ? 
Yet  this  is  the  rule,  by  which  we  ought  to  estimate  the  litera- 
ry wealth  of  the  great  libraries  of  antiquity  and  of  the  middle 
ages,  which  were  composed  of  rolls,  and  even  those  of  the 
middle  ages  which  contained  only  manuscripts.  "Hence," 
says  M.  Balbi,  "  notwithstanding  the  imposing  array  of  au- 
thorities which  can  be  brought  against  us,  we  must  persist  in 
believing,  that  no  library  of  antiquity  or  of  the  middle  ages 
can  be  considered  as  equivalent  to  a  modern  one  of  100,000 
or  110,000  volumes." 

Small,  however,  would  be  the  interest,  which  we  should 
feel  for  these  magnificent  establishments,  were  they  designed 


LIBRARIES.  301 

solely  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  individuals,  or  of  one  favored 
class.  They  would  still  be  splendid  monuments  of  the  pro- 
ductive powers  of  the  human  mind,  and  of  the  taste  or  learning 
of  their  founders ;  but  they  would  have  no  claims  to  that  un- 
bounded admiration  with  which  we  now  regard  them.  There 
is  a  republican  liberality  in  the  management  of  the  great  libra- 
ries of  the  continent  of  Europe,  which  is  well  worthy  of  our 
imitation.  In  these  alone  is  the  great  invention  of  printing 
carried  out  to  its  full  extent,  by  the  free  communication  of  all 
its  productions  to  every  class  of  society.*  No  introduction,  no 
recommendation,  no  securities  are  required ;  but  the  stranger 
and  the  native  are  admitted,  upon  equal  terms,  to  the  full  en- 
joyment of  all  the  advantages,  which  the  uncontrolled  use  of 
books  can  afford.  As  this  mode  of  accommodating,  or  rather 
of  meeting  the  wants  of  the  public,  is  the  real  object  of  these 
institutions,  they  are  provided  with  librarians,  who,  under 
different  titles  corresponding  to  the  duties  imposed  upon  them, 
receive  from  government  regular  salaries,  proportioned  to 
their  rank,  and  to  the  services  which  they  perform.  To  these 
the  immediate  superintendence  of  the  library  is  wholly  in- 
trusted. They  take  care  of  the  books.  They  enter  the  titles 
of  new  ones  upon  the  catalogue,  and  arrange  them  in  their 
proper  places.  They  prepare  memorials  for  new  purchases, 
and  direct  all  binding  and  repairs.     This,  however,  is  but  a 

*  Ovid,  in  the  touching  little  elegy  which  serves  as  introduction  to  the 
3d  book  of  the  "Tristia,"  gives  the  following  complete  description  of  the 
public  libraries  of  Rome. 

"  Quaeque  viri  docto  veteres  cepere  novique 
Pectore,  lecturis  inspicienda  patent." 

Many  words  might  be  added  to  this,  but  not  a  single  idea. 
26 


302  LIBRARIES. 

part  of  their  duty.  At  a  stated  hour  of  every  day  in  the 
week,  except  of  such  as  are  set  apart  for  public  or  religious 
festivals,  they  open  the  library  to  the  public.  The  hall  is  set 
round  with  tables,  which  are  provided  with  ink,  and  convenient 
frames  for  the  books  of  each  student.  The  librarians  at  their 
respective  posts  await  his  orders.  Thus  undisturbed,  and 
supplied  with  every  thing  which  the  library  contains,  that  can 
aid  him  in  his  studies,  the  scholar  may  pass  from  three  to  five 
hours  of  every  day,  without  any  expense,  and  with  no  other 
care  than  that  natural  attention  to  the  books  he  uses,  which 
every  one  capable  of  appreciating  the  full  value  of  such  priv- 
ileges, will  readily  give.  Nor  do  his  facilities  cease  here. 
Five  hours  a  day  are  insufficient  for  profound  and  extensive 
researches ;  and  the  writer  who  has  to  trace  his  facts  through 
a  great  variety  of  works,  and  examine  the  unpublished  docu- 
ments which  are  to  be  found  in  public  libraries  alone,  would 
be  obliged  to  sacrifice  a  large  portion  of  every  day,  if  his 
studies  were  regulated  by  the  usual  public  hours  of  the  libra- 
ries. For  such  persons,  a  proper  recommendation  can  hardly 
fail  to  obtain  the  use,  at  their  own  houses,  of  the  works  they 
may  need.  In  this  manner  the  door  is  thrown  open  to  every 
one  who  wishes  to  enter,  and  science  placed  within  reach  of 
all  who  court  her  favors. 

But  is  this  view  of  the  subject  correct?  Is  it  true  that 
science  requires  such  aid;  and  does  not  this  accumulation  of 
books  contribute  rather  to  form  a  taste  for  ostentatious  erudi- 
tion, than  to  build  up  a  pure  literature,  at  once  vigorous, 
original,  and  profound  ? 

It  cannot  be  expected  that  we  should  enter  into  a  full 


LIBRARIES.  303 

examination  of  this  question.  A  single  page  from  the  literary- 
history  of  any  one  of  the  nations  of  Europe  would  be  more 
than  sufficient  to  refute  the  opinion,  which  has  found  its  way, 
we  know  not  how,  into  the  minds  of  some,  whose  own  experi- 
ence and  example  form  the  best  commentary  upon  their  belief. 
We  shall  endeavor  to  meet  the  objection  under  one  only  of  its 
various  aspects ;  and,  if  our  reasoning  on  this  be  found  correct, 
we  may  fairly  trust  to  our  readers  for  the  application  of  it  to 
the  rest. 

And,  in  the  first  place,  it  seems  to  us,  that,  setting  aside  the 
subdivisions,  which  any  pretension  to  logical  accuracy  would 
require,  all  the  works  which  compose  the  public  libraries  of 
Europe  may  be  divided  into  two  classes ;  books  for  study,  and 
books  of  reference.  The  number  of  those  works  which  can 
be  accurately  studied,  is  not  only  comparatively  small,  but  is 
doubtless  susceptible  of  still  further  reduction.  The  progress 
of  science  enlarges  the  sphere  of  our  observations  and  of  our 
studies,  by  opening  new  fields  for  speculation  and  research ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  simplifies  and  facilitates  them,  by 
reducing  the  mass  of  observation  and  experiment  to  a  few 
general  and  comprehensive  principles.  We  begin  by  observ- 
ing and  making  experiments.  We  next  discuss  and  reason 
upon  the  results,  which  are  thus  obtained ;  and  accurate  rea- 
soning never  fails  to  lead,  sooner  or  later,  to  a  discovery  of 
the  principles  on  which  they  depend.  Whoever  engages  in 
the  study  of  a  science  in  the  first  stage  of  this  progress,  will 
find  a  mass  of  materials,  interesting  in  their  nature,  but  re- 
pulsive and  perplexing  from  their  want  of  connection,  and  of 
the  certainty,  which  can  only  be  felt  in  those  sciences  which 


304 


LIBRARIES. 


are  based  upon  clear  and  well-established  principles.  In  its 
more  advanced  stages,  it  is  found  simple,  lucid,  and  connect- 
ed. Here,  then,  dividing  lines  are  drawn  between  scientific 
works,  composed  at  the  different  periods  of  this  development. 
Students  are  ranged  upon  opposite  sides  of  them,  according 
to  the  diversities  of  their  aims  and  tastes.  They  who  wish 
to  study  the  science  in  its  results,  find  all  they  want  in  the 
latest  treatises.  Another  class  goes  further,  and  extends  its 
examination  to  the  works  of  all  those,  who  have  attempted  to 
give  a  fuller  development  to  its  acknowledged  principles,  or 
to  add  to  the  store  by  new  discoveries.  Last  comes  the  stu- 
dent, who  with  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  actual  state  of 
his  favorite  science,  wishes  to  examine  its  history,  trace  its 
progress  from  its  earliest  origin,  and  follow  the  course  of  the 
speculations  and  experiments  which  have  progressively  con- 
tributed to  its  formation. 

Here,  therefore,  we  find  ourselves  among  books  of  refer- 
ence, useless  to  the  first  class  of  students ;  of  more  or  less 
value  to  the  second ;  indispensable  to  the  third.  What  pri- 
vate library  can  supply  them  ?  What  public  library  in  this 
country  contains  the  materials  for  an  accurate  history  of  any 
one  department  of  science  ?  Take  even  the  most  limited,  or 
rather  one  of  the  most  recent  of  all,  the  science  of  political 
economy.  Here  our  researches  are  confined  to  one  definite 
period.  We  have  no  dusty  archives  to  explore,  no  time-worn 
manuscripts  to  decipher.  The  origin  of  the  science  is  within 
the  memory  of  our  fathers,  and  we  ourselves  have  witnessed 
its  sudden  growth  and  rapid  development.  Yet  how  much  is 
to  be  done,  how  many  authorities  to  be  weighed,  how  many 


LIBRARIES.  305 

different  treatises  to  be  analyzed  and  compared,  before  we 
can  venture  to  say,  Here  is  the  history,  for  such  was  the  rise, 
such  the  progress,  such  the  changes  of  opinion,  such  the  re- 
ceived, and  such  the  rejected  theories  of  political  economy ! 
The  writers  of  the  first  French  school,  of  the  Scotch  school, 
(and  if  we  wish  for  history  we  must  go  beyond  the  publication 
of  Adam  Smith's  great  work,)  the  Italian,  the  new  French, 
and  the  new  English  schools,  all  have  not  merely  a  claim  upon 
our  attention,  but  are  entitled  to  a  full  and  accurate  examina- 
tion. And  even  then  our  task  would  be  incomplete ;  for  lite- 
rary justice  would  require  us  to  trace,  through  the  works  of 
general  political  writers,  the  hints  and  remarks  which  have 
contributed  to  the  progress  of  the  branch  we  are  studying,  by 
the  discovery  of  truth  or  by  the  exposition  of  error. 

If  such  be  the  obligations  of  the  student,  whose  researches 
are  confined  to  a  subject  so  new,  what  must  be  the  necessities 
of  the  historian  who  attempts  to  throw  light  upon  those  peri- 
ods, for  which  the  testimony  of  printed  authorities  is  to  be 
confronted  with  that  of  manuscripts  and  public  documents, 
and  where  ignorance  and  prejudice  have  combined  with  the 
more  powerful  incentives  of  interest,  to  perplex  his  path  by 
contradictory  statements  and  conflicting  opinions !  It  has 
been  said,  that  the  history  of  the  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire"  could  not  have  been  written  in  America; 
and,  in  fact,  although  the  personal  fortune  of  Gibbon  enabled 
him  to  purchase  for  his  own  library  nearly  all  the  materials, 
which  he  employed  in  the  composition  of  his  great  work,  yet 
he  was  more  than  once  indebted  for  important  facts  and  views 
to  the  great  libraries  of  the  continent.     Now  most  of  the 

26* 


306  LIBRARIES. 

works  by  means  of  which  his  history  was  compiled,  were  of 
necessity  works  of  reference ;  works  which  few,  perhaps, 
may  consult,  fewer  still  would  think  of  reading ;  but  which, 
nevertheless,  supply  the  materials  for  our  richest  and  noblest 
instruction. 

If  it  be  said  that  the  class  of  readers,  whose  wants  extend  to 
works  of  this  description,  is  small,  we  wrould  reply,  that  as  far 
as  America  is  concerned,  this  is  true  at  the  present  moment, 
but  that  every  appearance  indicates  a  great  and  speedy  aug- 
mentation in  their  number.  The  present  state  of  things  is  a 
necessary  consequence  of  the  actual  condition  of  our  litera- 
ture. Holding  a  distinguished  rank  in  several  branches,  there 
are  still  many  in  which  we  have  as  yet  accomplished  little  or 
nothing.  There  are  exceptions.  But  how  far  do  they  go, 
and  what  is  the  true  character  of  them  ?  The  best  life  of 
Columbus  is  the  work  of  an  American ;  but  it  was  written  in 
Spain.  The  "  History  of  the  Northmen  "  is  a  work  of  great 
learning  and  research ;  but  Mr.  Wheaton  collected  his  mate- 
rials and  wrote  in  Europe,  with  all  the  advantages  of  a  high 
public  station.  These  cases,  therefore,  instead  of  making 
against  us,  show  how  great  a  change  has  taken  place  in  the 
literary  aims  of  our  countrymen,  and  how  rapidly  their  wants 
are  extending  beyond  the  bounds,  which  individual  wealth 
can  meet* 

How  far  is  our  community  prepared  to  supply  these  wants? 
The  call  for  a  sound  literature  is  universal ;  and  there  is  no 
one  who  understands  the  real  state  of  the  country,  who  does 

*This  was  written  in  1837,  consequently  before  the  publication  of  Mr. 
Prescott's  elegant  and  instructive  histories. 


LIBRARIES.  307 

not  perceive,  how  promptly  the  impulse,  already  given  to 
our  literature  in  some  departments,  has  been  followed  by  the 
ambition  to  carry  out  the  work  into  other  branches.  A  lite- 
rary class  is  gradually  forming  itself  into  a  distinct  order; 
opening  for  many  new  springs  of  wealth,  for  all  new  sources 
of  enjoyment,  but  still  dependent  upon  the  other  classes  of 
society  for  its  subsistence  and  its  success,  and  destined  to  form 
for  them  a  literature  either  superficial  and  ephemeral,  or  pro- 
found and  durable,  in  exact  proportion  as  its  intellectual  wants 
are  neglected  or  supplied.  Of  the  nature  of  these  wants  we 
have  already  spoken.  Books  are  needed,  not  confined  to  any 
single  branch,  but  embracing  the  whole  range  of  science  and 
of  literature,  which  shall  supply  the  means  of  every  species 
of  research  and  inquiry,  and  which,  placed  within  reach  of  all, 
shall  leave  idleness  no  excuse  for  the  lightness  of  its  labors, 
and  poverty  no  obstacles,  which  industry  may  not  surmount. 
What  has  been  done,  or  what  is  doing,  towards  the  perform- 
ance of  this  duty  ? 

No  reply  can  be  given  to  this  question,  which  will  not  re- 
quire many  limitations.  Much  has  been  done  at  Boston  and 
at  Cambridge.  The  Boston  Athenaeum  has  made  already  a 
large  collection  of  valuable  works,  and  follows,  we  believe, 
though  perhaps  at  somewhat  too  respectful  a  distance,  the 
progress  of  the  literature  of  the  day.  The  library  of  Cam- 
bridge is  of  a  high  order.  Forty  thousand  volumes  of  printed 
works  go  far  towards  supplying  the  ordinary  wants  of  the 
members  of  our  oldest  university.  And  when  we  consider 
the  care  and  judgment  with  which  a  large  part  of  them  have 
been  selected,  we  are  disposed  to  place  this  far  above  many  of 


308  LIBRARIES. 

the  European  libraries,  which,  in  a  numerical  point  of  view, 
are  vastly  its  superiors.  In  the  department  of  American  his- 
tory, it  is  the  richest  in  the  world.  It  contains  the  choicest 
works  of  English  literature ;  and  it  is  provided  with  good  edi- 
tions of  the  classics  of  Greece  and  Rome,  as  well  as  of  many 
of  the  most  valuable  among  the  great  writers  of  Italy,  Germa- 
ny, France,  and  Spain. 

The  Philadelphia  library  is  estimated  at  about  42,000  vol- 
umes. Among  these  there  is  a  considerable  proportion  of 
valuable  articles,  and  the  Spanish  department  is  uncommonly 
complete.  The  New  York  Athenaeum  has  25,000  volumes. 
The  library  of  Congress  has  about  20,000 ;  but  in  this  last,  if 
we  except  the  law  library,  which,  though  too  exclusive  in  its 
character,  has  been  formed  upon  a  sounder  basis,  there  are  far 
too  many  of  those  trifling  productions,  which,  after  the  year  of 
their  publication  is  over,  become  a  useless  burden  to  its  shelves. 
Besides  these,  there  are  libraries  in  many  of  our  cities ;  and 
each  of  our  Universities  and  Colleges  contains  a  collection  of 
more  or  less  value,  and  pretty  well  adapted  to  the  wants  of 
academic  students. 

The  general  regulations  of  these  libraries  do  not,  as  far  as 
we  have  been  able  to  learn,  differ  in  any  material  particulars. 
With  few  exceptions,  the  libraries  of  our  colleges  are  restrict- 
ed to  the  use  of  the  students,  the  professors,  and  the  members 
of  the  corporation  or  directors,  under  whatever  name  they  may 
be  classed ;  none  of  these  are  supposed  to  study  in  the  library, 
but  call  at  stated  hours  for  the  books  they  want;  and  strangers 
and  students,  not  connected  with  the  institution,  can  only  obtain 
books  by  a  special  concession  or  through  some  individual  of 


LIBRARIES.  309 

the  privileged  body.  The  other  libraries  are  generally  held 
by  shares  open  to  subscription. 

Such,  we  believe,  is  the  general  character  of  our  public  li- 
braries. And  here  we  may  be  allowed  to  renew  the  question, 
how  far  do  they  meet  the  wants  of  our  community  ? 

Whoever  reflects,  though  but  for  a  moment,  upon  the  nu- 
merous branches  into  which  modern  literature  runs,  and  re- 
members that  the  literary  glory  of  a  nation  can  only  be  secured 
by  a  certain  degree  of  success  in  each  of  them ;  whoever  con- 
siders the  immense  mass  of  varied  materials,  without  which 
no  historical  work  of  importance  can  be  composed,  or  the 
extensive  learning  which  is  required  of  even  the  most  gifted 
genius  of  an  age  like  ours,  and  adds  to  these  considerations 
the  general  and  undeniable  fact,  that  of  those  who  would  gladly 
devote  themselves  to  literature,  but  a  few  can  ever  hope  to 
obtain  by  their  own  resources  the  command  of  the  works  that 
are  essential  to  the  successful  prosecution  of  their  studies,  — 
will  be  ready  to  acknowledge  that  we  have,  as  yet,  done  but  a 
small  part  of  what  may  be  justly  claimed  from  a  nation,  which 
aspires  to  the  first  rank  for  the  liberality  and  politeness  and 
high  moral  tone  of  its  civilization.  Late,  however,  as  we  are 
to  begin,  scarce  any  thing  in  this  department  has  been  accom- 
plished in  Europe,  which  might  not  be  done  with  equal  success 
in  America.  And  so  numerous  and  manifest  are  our  advan- 
tages in  some  important  particulars,  that  a  prompt  will  and 
sound  judgment  in  the  execution  of  it  might,  in  the  course  of 
a  very  few  years,  render  the  American  student  nearly  inde- 
pendent of  those  vast  collections,  which,  in  Europe,  have 
required   centuries  for  their  formation.      The   undertaking, 


310  LIBRARIES. 

however,  in  order  to  be  successful,  should  be  a  national  one. 
Without  urging,  that  no  State  is  fully  equal  to  it,  or  that  in  the 
hands  of  any  single  State,  it  would  not  answer  the  same  pur- 
pose, we  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  the  enlargement  of  the 
library  of  Congress  upon  those  broad  principles,  the  application 
of  which  to  the  collection  of  books  has  become  a  difficult  and 
important  art,  would  reflect  an  honor  upon  the  country,  equal 
to  the  permanent  advantages  which  it  would  secure  to  every 
member  of  the  community. 

The  first  class  in  such  an  institution  should  be  devoted  to 
national  history.  And  here,  although  we  have  neglected  to 
do  what  might  easily  have  been  done  a  few  years  ago,  yet  it 
is  still  in  our  power  to  do  more  than  any  nation  has  ever  done 
for  its  own  history.  The  purchase  of  the  manuscripts  of 
"Washington  was  the  first  step.  The  papers  of  Mr.  Madison 
are  another  valuable  acquisition.  Were  these  to  be  followed 
up  by  the  purchase  of  the  papers  of  the  other  distinguished 
men  of  our  revolution,  what  a  body  of  invaluable  documents 
would  be  brought  together  for  the  historians  of  the  country ! 
No  individual,  no  single  State,  could  accomplish  an  under- 
taking like  this.  But  the  voice  of  Congress  would  be  heard  in 
every  part  of  the  Union ;  and  with  whatever  veneration  these 
relics  might  be  regarded,  and  however  unwilling  their  owners 
might  feel  to  intrust  them  to  the  hands  of  an  individual,  or  to 
the  library  of  any  State  institution,  gladly  would  they  meet 
the  first  offers  of  Congress,  and  feel  as  if  they  had  performed 
their  duty  toward  their  ancestors,  by  placing  within  a  sure 
asylum  the  best  records  of  their  worth,  and  the  materials  from 
which  posterity  will  raise  the  most  durable  monument  to  their 


LIBRARIES.  311 

glory.  If  the  same  course  were  to  be  pursued  with  regard 
to  the  other  public  men  of  our  country ;  if  the  private  papers 
of  our  presidents,  or,  to  avoid  an  enumeration,  of  which  it  is 
easier  to  find  the  beginning  than  the  end,  if  the  papers  of  all 
those  men,  whose  lives  will  form  an  integral  part  of  American 
history,  were  collected  in  the  same  archive,  instead  of  being 
left  to  the  chances  of  preservation  or  destruction,  to  which 
they  are  inevitably  exposed  while  passing  through  the  hands 
of  heirs  differing  in  their  tastes  and  pursuits,  a  large  and  per- 
haps the  most  valuable  portion  of  our  history  would  be  placed 
beyond  the  control  of  chance,  and  the  influence  of  those  cas- 
ualties which  have  involved  so  many  portions  of  European 
history  in  impenetrable  obscurity.  Many  important  docu- 
ments also,  which,  for  fear  of  a  premature  publication,  are 
now  likely  to  be  destroyed,  would  be  readily  intrusted  to  a 
public  and  responsible  institution,  which  should  undertake  to 
withhold  them  from  every  eye  until  the  proper  moment  for 
making  them  public  had  arrived.  What  collection  of  manu- 
scripts could  compare  with  such  a  collection  as  this  ?  What 
parchment,  however  venerable  from  the  dust  of  ages,  could 
awaken  emotions,  like  those  with  which  we  should  contemplate 
the  original  records  of  the  events  which  interest  us  most,  pre- 
pared during  the  hurry  of  action  and  in  the  hour  of  trial,  and 
speaking  to  us,  as  it  were,  with  the  very  tones  of  the  epoch 
which  they  commemorate  ? 

Another  important  source  of  history  is  supplied  by  the 
industry  of  our  historical  societies.  Many  of  the  documents 
which  they  collect,  must,  from  their  nature,  remain  in  the 
archives  of  the   societies ;   but  all   the  published   volumes, 


312  LIBRARIES. 

which,  in  many  cases,  form  valuable  accessions,  not  merely  to 
the  materials  for  our  history,  but  to  our  historical  literature, 
might  be  regularly  transmitted  to  the  library  of  Congress  and 
deposited  in  the  class  of  national  history.  And  this  circum- 
stance itself  might  perhaps  contribute  to  awaken  new  energy 
in  those  societies,  which  languish  for  want  of  encouragement, 
or  of  that  stimulus,  which  a  consciousness  that  an  attentive 
public  is  watching  their  course,  never  fails  to  impart.  In  thi3 
manner,  the  history  of  the  past  would  be  secured  upon  the 
evidence  of  incontrovertible  and  characteristic  documents, 
while  that  of  the  present  and  of  the  future  would  be  placed 
under  the  sure  protection  of  the  pride  and  emulation  of  rival 
bodies. 

For  the  other  departments  of  our  library,  our  chief  depend- 
ence would  necessarily  be  placed  on  the  acquisition  of  books 
from  Europe,  both  by  the  direct  purchase  of  private  libraries, 
and  the  subsequent  collection  of  such  works  as  are  not  to  be 
found  in  private  sales.  The  first  of  these  methods,  as  we 
have  already  shown,  has  ever  proved  the  surest  source  of 
important  and  extensive  acquisitions.  It  was  thus  that  nearly 
58,000  printed  volumes  and  800  manuscripts  were  added,  at 
different  epochs,  to  the  Imperial  Library  of  Vienna.  No  other 
part,  perhaps,  of  that  immense  collection  can  be  compared 
with  this,  whether  we  consider  the  choice  and  elegance  of  the 
editions,  or  the  taste  and  learning  with  which  the  works  them- 
selves were  selected.  It  will  be  long,  before  such  opportuni- 
ties can  become  frequent  in  America ;  but  they  still  occur  from 
time  to  time  in  Europe.  When  the  fifty  thousand  volumes, 
which  the  library  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  said  to  have 


LIBRARIES.  313 

contained,  passed  under  the  hammer,  what  an  occasion  was 
offered,  for  laying  the  foundation  of  a  perfect  library !  *  We 
have  never  seen  the  catalogue  of  that  sale,  nor  heard  the  price 
at  which  it  was  made ;  but  no  one  acquainted  with  the  cast  of 
Mackintosh's  mind,  and  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  acquisi- 
tions, can  doubt  that  his  library  was  nearly  complete  in  some 
departments,  and  highly  valuable  in  all.  Here  the  purchase 
of  the  whole  collection  would  have  secured,  for  a  moderate 
price,  many  things  which  cannot  be  obtained  separately  but  at 
a  great  and  even  extravagant  one. 

The  library  of  Count  Boutourlin,  which  has  been  recently 
offered  to  Congress,  is  a  parallel  case.  It  is  smaller  than 
that  of  Sir  J.  Mackintosh,  for  it  contains  barely  twenty-four 
thousand  volumes.  Yet  in  these  twenty-four  thousand,  the 
scholar  will  find  ample  materials  for  the  gratification  of  his 
curiosity  in  some  of  the  most  interesting  branches  of  lit- 
erature. 

Count  Boutourlin  deserves  to  be  classed  among  the  most 
intelligent  and  industrious  of  European  bibliopholists.  Dur- 
ing the  course  of  a  long  life,  he  formed  two  of  the  most 
remarkable  libraries  ever  collected  by  a  private  individual. 
The  first  was  destroyed  in  the  conflagration  of  Moscow.  The 
second  is  still  in  the  hands  of  his  family,  f  This  last  was 
made  in  Italy,  and  with  the  concurrence  of  several  peculiarly 
favorable    circumstances.      Many  books    and    manuscripts, 

*  This  was  the  estimate  given  in  the  papers  of  the  day.  I  was  after- 
wards told  by  Sismondi  that  it  was  a  gross  exaggeration,  although  the 
library  was  very  valuable. 

t  It  has  since  been  sold  and  dispersed. 
27 


314  LIBRARIES. 

which  had  hitherto  been  inaccessible  to  any  purchaser,  had 
been  put  into  circulation  by  some  changes  connected  with  the 
political  revolutions  of  the  country,  without  being  brought  into 
the  ordinary  course  of  trade.  Other  works  of  great  value 
were  exposed  for  sale,  but  in  that  indirect  manner  well  known 
to  the  amateurs  of  rare  books  and  paintings  in  Italy.  The 
extensive  pecuniary  resources  of  Count  Boutourlin  enabled 
him  to  avail  himself  of  these  opportunities ;  and  his  profound 
knowledge  of  bibliography  secured  him  from  imposition. 
The  purchase  of  a  private  library,  which  had  been  originally 
formed  after  the  suppression  of  some  of  the  old  convents  of 
Tuscany,  gave  him  the  basis  of  his  new  collection,  and  put 
him  in  possession  of  some  of  the  rarest  articles  which  it  con- 
tains. The  remainder  was  the  work  of  a  patience  and  assi- 
duity, seldom,  if  ever,  surpassed.  Nearly  every  article  was 
a  personal  purchase.  Many  were  brought  to  him  in  sheets ; 
others  merely  divested  of  their  original  binding.  These  were 
to  be  numbered,  and  subjected,  in  short,  to  that  rigorous  ex- 
amination, by  which  the  skilful  bibliopholist  distinguishes  the 
really  rare  from  spurious  editions.  Thus,  unwearied  in  his 
labors  and  unsparing  in  his  expenditures,  he  continued  to  the 
last  years  of  his  life  daily  adding  to  his  collection,  and  has  left 
behind  him  a  monument  of  taste  and^  skill  which  any  biblio- 
pholist might  envy. 

The  catalogue  of  the  Boutourlin  library  is  divided  into 
classes.  The  class  of  manuscripts  is  composed  of  244  articles. 
Among  these  are  several  autographs  and  many  pieces  of 
great  rarity.  That  of  the  "  Divina  Commedia  "  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  we  have  ever  seen.     It  is  written  on  vellum, 


LIBRARIES.  315 

in  Gothic  letters,  which  evidently  belong  to  the  first  half  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  in  beauty  and  regularity  of  execu- 
tion are  not  inferior  to  the  neatest  type.  It  contains  ninety- 
eight  folio  sheets,  written  in  double  columns.  The  titles  are 
distinguished  by  red  ink ;  the  initials  of  the  chapters  are  al- 
ternately red  and  blue ;  those  of  the  beginnings  of  the  three 
divisions  are  of  a  larger  size  and  ornamented  with  colored 
arabesques. 

This  curious  manuscript  was  obtained  from  the  last  of  the 
celebrated  family  of  Malespini,  to  a  member  of  which  the 
second  part  of  the  poem  was  originally  dedicated.  The  arms 
and  seal  of  the  family,  which  it  still  bears,  the  form  of  the 
letters  in  which  it  is  written,  which  is  of  the  age  of  Dante,  and 
the  circumstance  of  the  dedication,  would  seem  to  favor  the 
supposition,  that  has  been  hazarded  by  some  skilful  judges, 
that  this  is  the  identical  copy  presented  by  the  author  to  his 
friend  and  patron. 

The  manuscript  of  the  poems  of  Filicaja  is  enriched  with 
corrections  in  the  handwriting  of  the  author,  and  might  furnish 
materials  for  a  new  edition  of  his  works. 

Petrarch's  "Africa"  is  contained  in  a  beautiful  old  manu- 
script. There  are  manuscripts  of  some  of  the  choicest  works 
of  Latin  literature ;  and,  in  the  miscellanies,  there  are  many 
curious  historical  documents,  which  have  never  been  pub- 
lished. 

The  editions  of  the  fifteenth  century  form,  as  our  readers 
already  know,  one  of  the  most  difficult  objects  of  bibliograph- 
ical research.  The  texts  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics, 
as  contained  in  some  of  these  editions,  enjoy  an  authority 


316  LIBRARIES. 

equal  to  that  of  the  most  precious  manuscripts.  Their  typo- 
graphical execution  makes  them  curious  monuments  of  the 
early  perfection  of  this  art.  Such  is  the  rarity  of  these 
editions,  and  the  value  attached  to  them,  that  it  may  be  safely 
said  that  no  efforts  could,  at  the  present  day,  make  a  collec- 
tion of  them  complete.  In  this  class  the  Boutourlin  library 
contains  six  hundred  and  forty-two  articles,  exclusive  of  the 
Aldines,  and  of  an  extensive  collection  of  sermons  and  dis- 
courses. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  pieces  of  this  department  is  the 
"Natural  History"  of  Pliny,  printed  in  1470.  That  of  Livy, 
executed  in  the  same  year,  in  three  folios,  is  hardly  less 
remarkable.  The  "  Rei  Rustics  Scriptores"  is  rendered  of 
inestimable  value  by  the  marginal  and  interlineary  notes  of 
Poliziano,  written  with  his  own  hand,  and  affording  a  striking 
proof  of  the  exactness  which  this  extraordinary  man  carried 
into  all  his  studies.  The  Florentine  Homer,  published  in 
1488,  forms  an  epoch  in  the  annals  of  Greek  typography. 
It  was  the  first  printed  edition  of  the  works  of  the  "sovereign 
poet,"  *  and  its  appearance  was  greeted  as  a  triumph  of  the 
art.  It  is  still  much  esteemed  for  the  correctness  of  its  text ; 
and  with  its  broad  margins,  the  yellowish  tinge  of  the  paper, 
and  antique  though  graceful  form  of ^  its  type,  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  remains  of  the  art  of  printing  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  f 

The  class  of  editions  without  date  contains  169  articles. 

A  separate  class  is  devoted  to  the  works  of  the  celebrated 

*  Qnegli  e  Omero  poeta  sovrano. 

t  This  work  has  been  sold  several  times  for  prices  ranging  between 
«ixty  and  ninety  pounds  sterling.    See  Brunet. 


LIBRARIES.  317 

enthusiast  Savanarola.    It  contains  53  pieces,  and  is  probably 
as  nearly  complete  as  it  can  be  rendered. 

No  name  stands  so  high  in  the  history  of  printing  as  that 
of  the  Aldi ;  for  there  is  none,  to  which  we  are  indebted  for 
the  preservation  of  so  many  of  the  most  important  monu- 
ments of  antiquity.  The  history  of  their  editions  has  been 
often  written,  and  is  considered  one  of  the  most  interesting 
branches  of  bibliographical  literature.  The  Boutourlin  Li- 
brary contains  386  articles  of  the  Aldine  press,  some  of  which 
are  among  the  rarest  of  these  celebrated  editions.  The  beau- 
tiful folio  Theocritus,  printed  in  1495,  the  works  of  Aristotle, 
of  Horace,  of  Caesar,  of  Livy,  of  Euripides,  of  Demosthenes, 
of  nearly  all,  in  short,  of  the  classics  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
with  many  original  editions  of  distinguished  writers  of  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  are  in  the  Boutourlin  col- 
lection. If  to  these  we  add  the  Bodonian,  which  is  com- 
plete, and  the  numerous  copies  of  works  printed  during  the 
interval  which  elapsed  from  the  death  of  the  younger  Aldus, 
to  the  first  editions  of  Bodoni,  we  shall  find  the  history  of 
printing  traced  from  near  its  origin  to  our  own  times,  in  well- 
preserved  specimens  of  the  most  remarkable  productions  of 
the  art. 

Several  divisions  still  remain  to  be  spoken  of,  which,  for 
extent  and  importance,  are  hardly  less  worthy  of  description 
than  those  which  we  have  more  minutely  specified.  But 
descriptions  of  this  kind  are  never  satisfactory.  It  is  only 
when  you  find  yourself  in  the  midst  of  a  large  library,  view 
the  imposing  array  of  its  countless  volumes,  and  are  brought, 
as  it  were,  face  to  face  with  nearly  all  that  the  human  mind 

27* 


318  LIBRARIES. 

has  accomplished  in  literature,  and  all  the  forms  that  art  has 
devised  in  order  to  perpetuate  these  productions,  that  you 
can  feel  with  full  force  the  advantages  which  such  collections 
secure. 

It  should,  however,  be  added,  that  every  part  of  the  Bou- 
tourlin  Library  is  in  the  highest  state  of  preservation.  The 
old  editions  are  remarkably  free  from  spots,  and  many  of  them 
have  been  rebound  with  great  elegance.  In  others  the  original 
binding  is  still  preserved,  affording,  as  those  acquainted  with 
the  state  of  this  art  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries 
well  know,  curious  specimens  of  taste  and  skill.  The  more 
recent  and  the  modern  works  are  nearly  all  bound  in  morocco 
or  Russia  leather.  * 


*  We  add,  for  a  further  illustration  of  the  subject,  a  list  of  the  di- 
visions of  the  catalogue,  with  the  number  of  articles  contained  in  each 
class: 

Manuscripts, 243 

A  portfolio  containing  forty-five  pieces,  from  the  tenth  to  the 
seventeenth  century,  composed  of  bulls,  diplomas,  etCi,  count- 
ing as  one  manuscript, 1 

Editions  of  the  fifteenth  century, 964 

Aldines, 423 

Bodonians, 377 

Italian  classics, 1868 

Theology  and  Ecclesiastical  History, 603 

Arts,  Sciences,  and  Fine  Arts, 974 

Belles-lettres  and  Literary  History, 1217 

History, 1260 

7930 

If  we  allow  three  volumes  for  each  article,  which  would  probably  be  a 
just  proportion,  we  should  have  7930  x  3  =  23790,  the  whole  number  of 
volumes  contained  in  the  Boutourlin  Library. 

In  these  classes,  several  things  are  grouped  together,  which  we  have 
spoken  of  in  the  text  as  separate.  The  sermons,  etc.,  and  editions  with- 
out date,  for  example,  are  classed  under  the  head  of  the  editions  of  the 
fifteenth  century. 


LIBRARIES.  319 

Here,  then,  we  find  the  nucleus  of  a  great  library,  around 
which  it  would  be  easy  to  form  a  collection,  that  should  leave 
us  little  cause  to  envy  even  the  noblest  libraries  of  Europe. 
There  is,  it  is  true,  one  department,  in  which  we  could  never 
pretend  to  vie  with  them.  We  mean  in  the  beautiful  specimens 
which  they  possess  of  ancient  manuscripts.  But  all  the  real 
utility  that  can  be  derived  from  these  might  be  secured  by 
careful  collations,  and  by  causing  the  most  important  unpublish- 
ed works  to  be  copied.  Both  of  these  measures  are  practicable. 
The  latter,  if  conducted  with  judgment,  would  put  us  in  posses- 
sion of  exact  copies  of  many  documents  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance to  the  student  of  history,  and  which  are  often  inacces- 
sible to  private  individuals  in  Europe  itself. 

"We  would  be  understood,  however,  as  leaving  no  room 
for  the  immediate  action  of  bibliomania.  If,  when  the  real 
wants  of  society  are  supplied,  there  should  be  a  disposition  to 
indulge  the  passion  for  luxurious  editions,  we  would  be  far 
from  withholding  from  our  bibliomaniacs  the  exquisite  delight 
of  feasting  their  eyes  upon  leaves  of  yellow  hue  and  tomes 
of  pure  black  letter.  The  extravagant  bibliomania,  which 
has  prevailed  since  the  close  of  the  last  century,  may  not 
have  been  altogether  useless ;  and  we  would  fain  believe  that 
the  character  of  our  modern  editions  has  been  improved  by 
this  excessive  partiality  for  the  old.  But  no  public  library, 
designed  solely  to  foster  a  growing  taste  for  literature,  by 
placing  within  reach  of  every  student  all  the  facilities  that  his 
pursuits  may  require,  can  be  the  work  of  a  bibliomaniac.  It 
is  not  by  the  elegance  of  a  few  choice  copies,  nor  by  the 
possession  of  a  few  rarities,  which  boast  an  older  date  than 


320  LIBRARIES. 

any  of  a  rival  institution,  that  the  wants  of  the  student  can 
be  satisfied,  or  the  cause  of  real  literature  advanced.  Good, 
or  in  other  words,  correct  editions  answer  every  literary  pur- 
pose just  as  well  as  rare  ones ;  the  latter  are  rather  the  or- 
naments, than  the  appropriate  furniture  of  a  library,  and, 
although  valuable  additions,  where  the  more  important  object 
has  been  secured,  should  never  be  suffered  to  engross  any 
extraordinary  share  of  attention,  at  the  earlier  periods  of  its 
formation.  * 

Other  sources  remain  to  be  spoken  of,  which,  as  we  have 
already  been  carried  beyond  the  limits  which  we  had  origi- 
nally set  to  our  paper,  we  shall  rather  allude  to,  than  de- 
velop. One  of  the  most  important  of  these,  is  the  purchase 
of  all  the  works  necessary  for  the  completion  of  the  particu- 
lar classes,  which  are  incomplete  in  the  private  libraries,  that 
form  the  basis  of  the  public  one.  The  celebrated  catalogue 
of  Brunet  will  here  furnish  an  unerring  guide.f     There  are 

*  A  distinction  should  always  be  made  between  the  bibliomaniac  and 
the  bibliopholist ;  the  man  who  prizes  an  old  edition  merely  because  it  is 
old,  and  one  who  attaches  a  just  value  to  particular  editions  of  good 
authors,  for  the  qualities  of  the  text  and  readings. 

t  The  "  Manuel "  of  Brunet  forms  four  octavo  volumes,  to  which  a 
supplement  of  three  volumes  was  added  in  1834.  The  first  three  vol- 
umes of  the  "  Manuel,"  as  well  as  the  supplement,  contain  a  dictionary 
of  the  principal  works  published  since  the  invention  of  printing.  The 
arrangement  is  alphabetical ;  the  author's  name  being  employed,  where 
known,  the  title  of  the  work,  when  anonymous ;  and  with  all  the  details, 
witli  regard  to  editions,  which  are  necessary  in  order  to  guard  against 
deception,  or  a  bad  selection.  The  prices,  as  far  as  they  could  be  ascer- 
tained from  catalogues  and  a  long  practical  acquaintance  with  the  trade, 
have  been  scrupulously  marked. 

The  fourth  volume  contains  a  catalogue,  in  which  all  the  best  works, 
upon  every  subject,  are  arranged  under  their  respective  classes.    We 


LIBRARIES.  321 

but  few  articles  of  importance  in  any  department  of  literature, 
which  are  not  cited  in  this  catalogue.  All  the  divisions  of 
history,  the  various  schools  of  philosophy,  treatises  upon  the 
arts  and  sciences,  and  a  large  proportion  of  the  productions  of 
polite  literature,  are  arranged  in  it  with  an  exactness  and  skill 
in  classification,  which  give  this  work  a  decided  superiority 
over  every  other  bibliographical  treatise  that  we  have  seen. 

To  these  sources  should  be  added  a  competent  endowment, 
or  appropriation,  to  be  employed  according  to  a  carefully 
formed  plan  of  annual  expenditure.  There  can  be  no  greater 
mistake  than  to  suppose,  that  a  library  can  be  formed  at  the 
present  day,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  answer  the  purposes  of  a 
literary  community,  without  a  strict  attention  to  method.  A 
carefully  formed  plan,  and  a  rigid  adherence  to  it,  are  no  less 
essential  to  the  success  of  this,  than  of  any  other  undertaking. 
Bibliography  is  a  science,  vast,  and  full  of  difficulties ;  em- 
barrassed moreover  by  the  disadvantage  of  being  constantly 
liable  to  misinterpretation  and  unmerited  censure.  Yet  when 
properly  understood,  it  contributes  in  the  promptest  and  most 
efficacious  manner  to  the  progress  of  every  other  branch  of 
knowledge.  By  its  aid  the  student  in  every  department  knows 
where  to  go,  what  to  consult,  how  much  assistance  he  can 

know  of  nothing  so  complete  in  its  kind,  as  this  catalogue ;  nor  is 
there  any  work,  to  which  the  student  can  have  recourse  with  so  much 
confidence  and  satisfaction,  in  order  to  ascertain  what  has  been  writ- 
ten upon  any  branch  of  literature.  It  should  be  observed,  however, 
that  all  the  classes  of  this  catalogue  are  not  equally  full.  The  French 
is  the  most  complete  of  all.  The  English,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Ori- 
ental are  good;  the  Latin  and  Greek  nearly,  if  not  fully  complete. 
For  the  German,  reference  is  made  to  a  German  work  of  the  same 
description. 


322  LIBRARIES. 

hope  for  from  others,  and  how  far  he  must  brace  his  nerves 
to  a  new  and  unbroken  path.  The  application  of  profound 
bibliographical  knowledge  to  the  formation  of  a  library  is  the 
only  course  that  can  lead  surely,  promptly,  and  economically 
to  the  end. 

There  would  still  be  many  considerations  to  urge  upon  our 
readers,  were  it  our  intention  to  engage  in  a  full  examination 
of  our  subject  But  we  have  aimed  solely  at  collecting  a  few 
facts,  and  throwing  together  a  few  suggestions,  in  the  hope  that 
they  might  be  gathered  up  and  applied  by  some  one,  better 
able  than  we  are  to  do  them  justice.  The  subject  is  one  that 
may  be  deferred,  but  cannot  long  be  neglected.  It  will  go  on 
gaining  upon  public  attention,  until  seen  by  all  in  its  true  light, 
and  in  all  its  bearings.  Then  the  connection  between  a  sound 
literature  and  the  means  used  for  its  formation  will  be  felt. 
Then  the  numerous  and  immediate  advantages  of  such  a  form 
of  encouragement,  as  that  which  we  have  ventured  to  propose, 
will  be  clearly  seen  and  fully  understood;  and  the  rich  harvest 
of  glory,  which  our  scholars  will  reap  in  every  branch  of  study, 
will  convince  even  the  most  incredulous,  that  literature  asks 
no  favors,  and  receives  no  aid,  for  which  she  does  not  repay 
the  giver  with  a  tenfold  increase. 


VERRAZZANO.* 


Ma  misi  me  per  1'  alto  mare  aperto, 

Sol  con  un  legno,  e  con  quella  compagna 

Picciola  dalla  qual  non  fui  deserto. 

Dante. 


A  note  at  the  first  part  of  the  twentieth  page  of  the  first  volume  of 
Mr.  Bancroft's  learned  and  elegant  History  of  the  United  States,  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  the  following  paper.  The  Strozzi  Library,  there 
spoken  of,  is  no  longer  in  existence ;  but  the  manuscripts  of  that  collec- 
tion passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Tuscan  government,  and  were  divided 
between  the  Magliabecchian  and  Laurentian  libraries  of  Florence.  The 
historical  documents  were  deposited  in  the  former.  Among  them  was 
the  cosmographical  narration  of  Verrazzano,  mentioned  by  Tiraboschi, 
upon  the  authority,  as  we  should  suppose,  of  Pelli,  and  which  Mr.  Ban- 
croft expresses  a  desire  to  see  copied  for  the  Historical  Society  of  New 
York.  It  is  contained  in  a  volume  of  Miscellanies,  marked  "  Class  XIII. 
Cod.  89.  Verraz. ; "  and  forms  the  concluding  portion  of  the  letter  to 
Francis  the  First,  which  is  copied  at  length  in  the  same  volume.  It  is 
written  in  the  common  running  hand  of  the  sixteenth  century,  (carrattere 

*  Delle  Navigazioni  et  Viaggj,  raccolte  da  M.  Giovam-Battista 
Ramusio,  iv.  vol.,  fol.;  Venezia,  appresso  i  Giunti;  (torn.  iii.  mdlxv., 

MDCVI. 


324 


VERRAZZANO. 


corsivo,)  tolerably  distinct,  but  badly  pointed.  The  whole  volume,  which 
is  composed  of  miscellaneous  pieces,  chiefly  relating  to  contemporary 
history,  is  evidently  the  work  of  the  same  hand. 

Upon  collating  this  manuscript  with  that  part  of  the  letter  which  was 
published  by  Ramusio,  we  were  struck  with  the  differences  in  language, 
which  run  through  every  paragraph  of  the  two  texts.  In  substance  there 
is  no  important  difference,  except  in  one  instance,  where  by  an  evident 
blander  of  the  transcriber  bianchissimo  is  put  for  bronzina.  There  is 
something  so  peculiar  in  the  style  of  this  letter,  as  it  reads  in  the  manu- 
script of  the  Magliabecchian,  that  it  is  impossible  to  account  for  its  vari- 
ations from  Ramusio,  except  by  supposing  that  this  editor  worked  the 
whole  piece  over  anew,  correcting  the  errors  of  language  upon  his  own 
authority.*  These  errors  indeed  are  numerous,  and  the  whole  exhibits 
a  strange  mixture  of  Latinisms  and  absolute  barbarisms,  with  pure  Tus- 
can words  and  phrases.  The  general  cast  of  it,  however,  is  simple  and 
not  unpleasing.  The  obscurity  of  many  of  the  sentences  is,  in  a  great 
measure,  owing  to  false  pointing. 

The  cosmographical  description  forms  the  last  three  pages  of  the  let- 
ter. It  was  doubtless  intentionally  omitted  by  Ramusio,  though  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  why.  Some  of  the  readings  are  apparently  corrupt ; 
nor,  ignorant  as  we  are  of  nautical  science,  was  it  in  our  power  to  correct 
them.  There  are  also  some  slight  mistakes,  which  must  be  attributed 
to  the  transcriber. 

A  letter,  which  follows  that  of  Verrazzano,  gives,  as  it  seems  to  us,  a 
sufficient  explanation  of  the  origin  of  this  manuscript.  It  was  written  by 
a  young  Florentine,  named  Fernando  Carli,  and  is  addressed  from  Lyons 
to  his  father  in  Florence.  It  mentions  the  arrival  of  Verrazzano  at 
Dieppe,  and  contains  several  circumstances  about  him,  which  throw  a 
new  though  still  a  feeble  light  upon  some  parts  of  his  history,  hitherto 
wholly  unknown.   It  is  by  the  discovery  of  this  letter,  that  we  have  been 

*  He  did  so  also  with  the  translation  of  Marco  Polo.  See  Apostolo 
Zeno,  Annot.  alia  Bib.  Ital.  del  Fontanini.  Tom.  II.  p.  300 ;  ed.  di 
Parma.     1804. 


VERRAZZANO.  325 

enabled  to  form  a  sketch  of  him,  somewhat  more  complete  than  any 
which  has  ever  yet  been  given. 

The  history  of  both  manuscripts  is  probably  as  follows.  Carli  wrote 
to  his  father,  thinking,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  that  the  news  of  Verraz- 
zano's  return  would  give  great  satisfaction  to  many  of  their  friends  in 
Florence.  He  added  at  the  same  time,  and  this  also  we  learn  from 
his  own  words,  a  copy  of  Verrazzano's  letter  to  the  king.  Both  his  let- 
ter and  his  copy  of  Verrazzano's  were  intended  to  be  shown  to  his  Flor- 
entine acquaintances.  Copies,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  were  taken 
of  them ;  and  to  us  it  seems  evident  that,  from  some  one  of  these,  the 
copy  in  the  Magliabecchian  manuscript  was  derived.  The  appearance 
of  this  last,  which  was  prepared  for  some  individual  fond  of  collecting 
miscellaneous  documents,  if  not  by  him,  is  a  sufficient  corroboration  of 
our  statement. 

The  libraries  of  Florence  contain  nothing  further  relative  to  Verraz- 
zano.  We  have  examined  the  Magliabecchian,  the  Laurentian,  the 
Palatine,  and  that  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts. 

Neither  could  we  discover  any  thing  concerning  him,  among  the 
printed  works  of  the  Riccardian.  The  arrangement  of  the  miscellaneous 
manuscripts  in  this  last,  of  which  there  is  no  index,  made  it  impossible 
to  ascertain  any  thing  with  regard  to  their  contents,  without  carrying 
our  researches  further  than  circumstances  would  warrant.  The  private 
libraries  to  which  we  have  had  access  are  equally  deficient  in  all  notices 
of  this  unfortunate  man;  and  Ramusio  was  doubtless  in  the  right,  when 
he  said,  that  all  but  the  letter  to  Francis  had  been  lost. 

As  the  family  of  Verrazzano  has  but  recently  become  extinct,  it  was 
natural  to  suppose,  that  the  best  chance  for  discovering  something 
more  complete,  or  more  positive,  concerning  the  existence  of  other  docu- 
ments, would  be  by  ascertaining  what  was  contained  in  the  family  libra- 
ry. This  we  were  enabled  to  do,  by  the  kindness  of  the  gentleman  by 
whom  it  was  arranged  previous  to  its  being  sold,  and  whose  passion  for 
bibliography  had  led  him  to  examine  every  part  of  it  with  minute  atten- 
tion.   All,  however,  that  was  found  in  it  relative  to  Giovanni,  was  a 


326  VERRAZZANO. 

manuscript  bound  up  in  the  family  copy  of  Ramnsio,  and  a  few  loose 
papers.  These  last  add  nothing  to  what  was  already  known.  The 
former  was  purchased  by  Captain  Napier,  R.N.,  and  is  now  in  England. 
We  presume  that  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  copy  of  the  abovementioned 
cosmographical  description,  or  perhaps  of  the  whole  letter,  from  the 
Magliabecchian  manuscript.  Should  the  present  paper  chance  to  meet 
the  eye  of  Captain  Napier,  we  trust  that  his  well-known  passion  for 
Italian  history  will  lead  him  to  favor  the  public  with  a  description  of  his 
manuscript,  if,  contrary  to  what  we  have  reason  to  believe,  it  contains 
any  notices  as  yet  unpublished. 


Giovanni  Verrazzano,  was  born  of  Pier  Andrea  da  Ver- 
razzano  and  Fiammetta  Capelli,  both  citizens  of  Florence. 
Conjecture,  as  to  his  history,  commences  with  his  infancy ; 
and  it  is  only  by  a  process  of  probable  reasoning,  that  we  can 
arrive  at  any  conclusion  even  with  regard  to  the  year  of  his 
birth.  The  line  of  his  ancestry  is  better  known,  and  has  been 
traced  with  a  certain  degree  of  evidence  to  an  early  part  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  Nor  will  it  be  uninteresting  to  add,  that  the 
family  continued  to  our  own  day,  having  become  extinct  in  the 
person  of  the  Cavalier  Andrea  da  Verrazzano,  who  died  at 
Florence  in  the  year  1819. 

A  highly  probable  conjecture  of  Pelli  places  his  birth  about 
the  year  1485.*  That  his  education  was  not  neglected,  is 
evident  from  his  subsequent  career ;  nor  would  it  be  going 

*"Non  essendo  nato  Giovanni  nel  1480,  al  tempo  dell'  ultimo  catasto, 
per  non  vedervisi  in  quello  dato  in  portata  dal  Padre  col  restante  della 
famiglia,  e  per  crederlo  in  eta  capace  digrandi  imprese  nel  1524,  si  potra 
ragionevolmente  dire  nato  circa  il  1485."  —  Elogj  degli  Must.  Toscani. 
Tom.  II.  No.  30. 


VERRAZZANO.  327 

too  far  to  say,  that  it  must  have  corresponded  in  some  re- 
spects to  the  rank  and  pretensions  of  a  family,  which  counted 
among  its  ancestors  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
the  republic.  However  this  may  be,  it  would  seem  certain 
that  the  passion  for  adventure,  to  which  he  is  indebted  for 
his  reputation,  was  manifested  at  an  early  period  of  his  life. 
He  resided  several  years  at  Cairo ;  but  at  what  epoch,  and 
for  what  purpose,  cannot  now  be  ascertained  with  certainty, 
although  there  can  be  but  little  doubt,  that  it  was  in  the 
course  of  those  commercial  speculations,  which  led  the  Italians 
to  establish  themselves  wherever  these  aims  could  be  prose- 
cuted to  advantage.  Whether  also  his  travels  in  Egypt  and 
in  Syria  were  excursions  made  for  the  gratification  of  his 
curiosity,  or  in  quest  of  gain ;  and  whether  they  had  any  con- 
nection with  his  residence  at  Cairo,  or  were  undertaken  at  a 
previous  or  at  a  subsequent  period,  are  questions,  which,  in 
order  to  refrain  from  venturing  too  far  beyond  the  legitimate 
bounds  of  historical  conjecture,  we  are  constrained  to  pass 
over  in  silence.  It  is  evident,  however,  from  several  allusions 
and  comparisons  in  his  letter  to  Francis,  that,  whatever  may 
have  been  the  nature  of  his  travels  by  land,  he  had  made 
more  than  one  voyage  in  the  Mediterranean ;  and  the  rank  to 
which  he  had  attained  in  the  service  of  France,  as  early  as 
the  year  1523,  would  naturally  lead  us  to  suppose,  that  these 
voyages  had  been  attended  with  a  certain  share  of  success  and 
distinction.  How  else  can  we  account  for  his  having  been 
chosen,  in  an  age  that  abounded  with  bold  and  skilful  adven- 
turers, to  direct  the  first  effort  made  by  France  in  the  career 
of  maritime  discovery  ? 


328  VERRA.ZZANO. 

But  such  has  been  the  fortune  of  Verrazzano,  that  here, 
where  light  first  begins  to  break  in  upon  his  history,  we  find 
ourselves  involved  in  a  new  question,  with  which  the  careless- 
ness of  a  modern  historian  has  encumbered  a  path  already 
sufficiently  intricate  and  obscure. 

It  has  been  confidently  asserted,  that  Verrazzano  made  three 
voyages  of  discovery  in  the  service  of  France.  The  first  is 
said  to  have  taken  place  in  1523 ;  and  the  second  in  the  follow- 
ing year.  Of  the  third  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  more 
fully  in  the  sequel  of  our  paper. 

The  supposition  of  the  first  voyage  is  founded  upon  the 
opening  paragraph  of  his  celebrated  letter  to  the  king  of 
France.  The  author  of  this  supposition  is  Charlevoix,  who, 
as  he  quotes  from  Ramusio,  would  not  seem  to  have  derived 
his  information  from  any  other  text  of  the  letter  of  Verrazza- 
no, than  the  copy  which  we  still  read  in  the  collection  of  that 
editor.  In  this,  according  to  the  French  historian,  Verrazza- 
no, supposing  Francis  to  have  been  already  informed  of  the 
success  and  the  details  of  his  voyage,  simply  states,  that  he 
had  sailed  from  the  port  of  Dieppe  with  four  vessels,  which 
he  had  succeeded  in  bringing  back  in  safety  to  the  same  port ; 
from  whence,  continues  Charlevoix,  he  started  once  more,  in 
the  month  of  January,  1525,  upon  a  predatory  excursion 
against  the  Spanish.  * 

*  See  Charlevoix,  T.  I.  p.  41.  We  would  here  correct  a  slight  error, 
which  has  inadvertently  dropped  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Bancroft.  This 
gentleman  says,  (History  of  the  United  States,  Vol.  I.  p.  17,)  that  "the 
Italian  [Verrazzano]  parting  from  a  fleet,  which  had  pursued  a  gainful 
commerce  in  the  ports  of  Spain,"  etc.  Verrazzano's  own  words  are: 
"Avra  V.  M.  inteso  il  discorso  facemmo  con  quelle  annate  in  guerra  per  li 


VERRAZZANO.  329 

If,  however,  we  turn  to  Verrazzano's  letter,  we  shall  find 
that  it  reads  very  differently  from  the  account  thus  given 
of  it.  He  says,  that,  after  the  tempest  which  he  had  encoun- 
tered on  the  northern  coast,  he  had  not  written  to  the  king 
concerning  the  vessels  sent  out  upon  discovery,  supposing 
him  to  have  been  already  informed  of  the  manner,  in  which 
he  had  been  impelled  by  the  violence  of  the  winds  to  take 
shelter  in  Brittany,  with  only  two  ships,  the  Dolphin  and  the 
Normandy ;  that  he  had  there  made  the  necessary  repairs ; 
that  he  had  then  made  a  predatory  excursion  along  the  coast 
of  Spain ;  and,  finally,  that  by  a  new  arrangement,  of  which, 
also,  he  supposes  the  king  to  have  been  already  informed,  he 
had  resolved  to  continue  the  first  voyage  with  the  Dolphin 
alone. 

It  will  here  be  seen  that  Verrazzano,  so  far  from  saying 
any  thing  of  his  having  returned  to  Dieppe,  explicitly  states, 
that  he  had  been  driven  by  the  wind  into  a  port  of  Brittany. 
The  assertion  of  Charlevoix,  therefore,  that  Verrazzano  had 
successfully  led  his  fleet  back  to  Dieppe,  is  a  flat  contradiction 
of  the  passage  which  he  cites.  Thus  the  proof  of  the  first 
voyage  of  Verrazzano  is  reduced  to  the  first  line  of  the  para- 
graph in  question,  and  the  words  seguire  la  prima  navigazione 
( "  continue  the  first  voyage," )  at  the  close  of  the  same  para- 
graph. After  an  attentive  consideration  of  the  whole  passage, 
we  have  been  unable  to  discover  any  thing  in  the  language  of 
it,  which  can  justify  the  opinion  of  Charlevoix.     Tiraboschi, 

lidi  di  Spagna"  etc.;  Charlevoix,  "pour  aller  en  course."  This,  of  course, 
was  not  commerce,  nor  would  the  war  which  was  then  raging  between 
their  respective  monarchs,  admit  of  any  amicable  intercourse  between 
France  and  Spain. 

28* 


VERRAZZANO. 

with  his  usual  acuteness,  suggests  that  the  voyage  given  out 
bj  the  French  historian  as  completed,  may  have  been  under- 
taken merely,  and  interrupted  by  the  tempest  alluded  to  in 
the  paragraph  which  we  have  cited.  *  This  suggestion,  to 
which  Tiraboschi  was  led  by  his  critical  sagacity  alone,  is 
confirmed  by  a  passage  in  the  letter  of  Carli,  who  says,  that 
when  Verrazzano  was  driven  back  by  the  tempest,  he  was 
abandoned  by  one  of  his  Florentine  companions.  The  expla- 
nation of  the  whole  paragraph  is  thus  rendered  natural  and 
easy;  and  we  are  justified  in  concluding  that  the  voyage  actual- 
ly accomplished  by  Verrazzano  was,  inasmuch  as  discovery 
was  concerned,  the  continuation  of  an  undertaking,  whose  com- 
mencement dated  further  back  than  his  departure  from  near 
the  island  of  Madeira,  f 

We  are  at  length  upon  sure  ground.  Verrazzano  has  told 
his  own  story,  and  with  that  unaffected  simplicity  which  never 
fails  to  command  belief.  He  sailed  from  a  desert  rock,  near 
the  island  of  Madeira,  on  the  17th  of  January,  1524,  in  the  ship 

*  "  Ma  forse  il  primo  fu  solo  tentato  ed  impedito  dalla  burrasca."  — 
Tiraboschi,  Tom.  VII.  par.  1,  p.  261. 

t  We  subjoin  the  original  paragraph,  for  the  satisfaction  of  such  of 
our  readers,  as  may  wish  to  examine  the  point  for  themselves.  "Da 
poi  la  fortuna  passata  nelle  spiagge  settentrionali,  Serenissimo  Signore, 
non  scrissi  a  vostra  serenissima  e  cristianissima  Maesta,  quello  che  era 
seguito  delli  quattro  legni,  che  quella  mando  per  lo  oceano  ad  iscoprir 
nuove  terre,  pensando  di  tutto  sia  stata  certificata  come  dalle  impetuose 
forze  de'  venti  fummo  costretti,  con  sola  la  nave  Normanda  e  Delfina 
afflitti,  ricorrere  in  Brettagna,  dove  restaurati,  avra.  V.  S.  M.  inteso  il 
discorso  facemmo  con  quelle  armate  in  guerra  per  li  lidi  di  Spagna,  di 
poi  la  nuova  disposizione  con  sola  la  Delfina  in  seguire  la  prima  navi- 
gazione,  dalla  quale  essendo  ritornato,  daro  adviso  a  V.  S.  M.  di  quello 
abbiamo  trovato." 

We  have  followed  in  this  extract  the  Magliabecchian  manuscript. 


VERRAZZANO.  331 

Dolphin,  provisioned  for  eight  months,  well  armed,  and  pro- 
vided with  those  articles  which  experience  had  shown  to  be 
of  value  in  an  intercourse  with  the  natives  of  the  west.  The 
Dolphin  is  described  as  but  a  caravel  in  burden;  but  this 
was  an  age  in  which  the  success  of  bold  enterprises  seems  to 
have  been  calculated  rather  by  the  character  of  the  men  who 
conducted  them,  than  by  the  fitness  and  extent  of  the  means 
employed  for  their  accomplishment. 

Starting  with  the  favor  of  a  light  but  constant  wind,  he 
stretched  boldly  to  the  westward,  with  a  slight  northerly 
inclination  in  his  course,  and  in  the  first  twenty-five  days 
bad  already  sailed  eight  hundred  leagues.  On  the  24th  of 
February,  he  was  assailed  by  a  violent  tempest,  which  his 
crowded  caravel  could  hardly  have  weathered,  unless  guided 
by  a  bold  and  experienced  mariner.  For  twenty-five  days 
more  he  held  his  way  with  unwavering  constancy,  although 
evidently  less  favored  by  the  wind,  for  in  all  this  time  he  ac- 
complished but  half  the  distance  of  his  first  run.  At  length 
he  came  within  sight  of  land,  a  long  line  of  low  coast  stretch- 
ing to  the  southward  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  and  lighted 
by  the  blaze  of  innumerable  fires.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
land ;  and,  after  a  fruitless  search  for  some  convenient  harbor, 
he  cast  anchor  off  the  shore,  and  landed  in  his  boat.  As  he 
drew  nigh  to  the  beach,  the  timid  natives  hastily  fled,  stop- 
ping, however,  from  time  to  time,  to  gaze  with  expressions  of 
savage  wonder  at  their  strange  visitants.  Curiosity  soon  got 
the  better  of  their  apprehensions;  and,  encouraged  by  the 
signs  and  gestures  of  the  seamen,  they  returned  towards  them 
with  demonstrations  of  wild  delight,  amazed  at  their  dress  and 


332  VERRAZZANO. 

aspect,  and  eagerly  pressing  forward  to  point  out  the  best 
place  for  landing.  Nor  was  there  less  in  the  appearance  of 
the  natives,  to  excite  the  admiration  of  the  Europeans.  Naked, 
except  at  the  waist,  which  was  covered  with  skins  and  girdles 
of  grass,  interwoven  with  the  tails  of  various  animals,  and  at 
the  head,  which  some  wore  decked  with  garlands  of  feathers, 
the  darkness  of  their  skins  and  of  their  thick  hair  seems  to 
have  set  off,  to  the  eyes  of  Verrazzano,  their  fine  forms  and 
striking  features.  He  was  strongly  reminded  of  the  East ;  and 
traced  out  a  resemblance  between  the  natives  of  the  two  coun- 
tries, which  subsequent  observations  have  partially  confirmed. 
This  first  interview  was  confined  to  expressions  of  mutual 
wonder,  and  nothing  occurred  on  either  side  to  interrupt  the 
harmony  of  the  parties. 

Pursuing  his  course  northward,  he  continued  to  note  with 
care  every  thing  that  the  nature  of  his  situation  allowed  him 
to  observe.  Not  far  from  his  first  landing-place,  he  remarked 
another  tribe,  which,  as  near  as  he  could  judge,  resembled 
the  former  in  situation  and  appearance.  The  shore  was  cov- 
ered with  a  fine  sand,  which  formed  a  beach  of  nearly  fifteen 
feet  in  breadth,  and  broken  by  small  hillocks.  Further  on, 
the  coast  was  indented  with  inlets  and  arms  of  the  sea,  and 
assumed,  as  he  continued  to  advance,  a  richer  and  more  win- 
ning aspect.  Broad  fields  spread  their  verdant  treasures 
before  him ;  and  woods,  more  or  less  dense,  displayed  the  va- 
riegated foliasre  of  our  American  forests.  He  seems  to  have 
been  overpowered  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  at  a  loss 
for  words  to  describe  it.  "  Think  not,"  says  he,  "  that  they 
are  like  the  Crimean  forests,  or  the  solitudes  of  Scythia,  or 


VERRAZZANO.  333 

the  rigid  coasts  of  the  North,  but  adorned  with  palm  trees, 
and  cypress,  and  laurel,  and  species  unknown  to  Europe, 
which  breathe  forth  from  afar  the  sweetest  of  odors."  Nor  is 
it  surprising  that  his  kindling  imagination  should  have  filled 
them  with  spices  and  aromatic  liquors,  and  discovered  traces 
of  gold  in  the  very  color  of  the  soil.  The  lakes  and  ponds  of 
fresh  water  gave  a  new  charm  to  the  scenery,  and  his  eye 
was  caught  with  the  wild  fowl  of  various  species  that  hovered 
around  them.  A  mild  and  temperate  climate,  a  serene  sky, 
rarely  and  transiently  tainted  with  vapors,  and  constantly  re- 
freshed by  gentle  western  breezes,  complete  the  enchanting 
picture  which  he  has  drawn  of  this  region ;  while  a  smooth 
sea,  with  a  clear  and  tenacious  bottom,  seemed  to  combine 
security  for  the  mariner  with  all  the  charms  that  attract  the 
landsman.  / 

The  coast  now  verged  more  decidedly  to  the  west.  Yet 
no  harbor  was  to  be  seen,  and  in  order  to  obtain  a  supply  of 
fresh  water,  of  which  he  began  to  feel  the  want,  Verrazzano 
was  constrained  to  make  one  more  attempt  to  land  in  his  boat. 
He  approached  the  shore,  but  could  not  reach  it;  for  the 
waves,  rolling  in  with  unbroken  fury  upon  the  open  beach, 
rendered  all  access  impracticable.  To  add  to  his  embarrass- 
ment, the  natives  had  assembled  upon  the  beach,  and  seemed 
to  invite  him  to  land,  with  amicable  gestures  and  expressions 
of  curiosity  and  amazement.  In  order  to  make  some  reply 
to  these  friendly  demonstrations,  he  ordered  one  of  his  men 
to  swim  as  nigh  to  the  shore  as  he  dared,  and  to  endeavor 
to  convey  to  the  natives  some  of  the  toys  which  he  thought 
would  prove  most  acceptable  to  them.     The  sailor  succeeded 


334  VERRAZZANO. 

in  conveying  his  precious  burden  to  those  for  whom  it  was 
destined ;  but,  in  endeavoring  to  return  to  the  boat,  was  over- 
powered by  the  breakers  and  thrown  breathless  upon  the 
sand.  No  sooner  did  the  natives  perceive  his  danger,  than, 
hastening  to  his  assistance,  they  drew  him  from  the  water,  and 
raising  him  by  the  arms  and  legs,  carried  him  higher  up  the 
beach.  At  this  moment  he  recovered  from  his  swoon,  and 
becoming  aware  of  his  situation,  began  to  cry  aloud  for  help. 
To  this  the  savages  replied  with  cries  no  less  vehement,  and 
which  probably  would  not  have  gone  far  towards  removing 
his  fears,  if  their  actions  had  not  speedily  given  him  the  best 
warrant  of  their  good  intentions.  Placing  him  gently  upon 
the  ground,  at  the  foot  of  a  small  hillock,  they  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  be  lost  in  admiration  of  the  whiteness  and  delicacy 
of  his  skin.  A  fire  was  soon  kindled ;  and,  while  his  terror- 
stricken  companions  were  every  moment  expecting  to  see  him 
devoured  under  their  very  eyes,  the  kind-hearted  natives  pro- 
ceeded to  warm  and  restore  him  by  its  blaze\  The  impression 
which  this  act  made  ut>on  Verrazzano  and  his  crew  may  be 
easily  imagined.  We  wish  we  could  say,  that  it  was  properly 
rewarded.  But  many  admire  what  they  could  never  perform, 
and  civilized  man  seems  to  have  devised  laws  for  his  own 
guidance,  of  which  he  is  unwilling  to  extend  the  advantage  to 
barbarians. 

Fifty  leagues  further  to  the  north,  Verrazzano  again  land- 
ed, and  succeeded  in  penetrating  nearly  two  leagues  into  the 
interior,  with  about  twenty  of  his  crew.  The  natives  had 
fled  to  their  forests;  but  two,  a  young  woman  and  an  old 
one,  less  fortunate  than  the  rest,  were  overtaken  by  the  Eu- 


VERRAZZANO.  335 

ropeans.  The  beginning  of  the  interview  was  friendly,  the 
latter  offering  them  food,  which  was  gladly  accepted  by  the 
elder,  but  contemptuously  rejected  by  her  companion.  The 
kidnapping  of  savages  was  too  common  an  event  to  excite 
even  a  passing  remorse  in  the  mind  of  a  seaman  of  that  age ; 
and  the  occasion  thus  presented,  too  tempting  to  be  neglected. 
They  seized,  therefore,  upon  the  girl,  and  taking  at  the  same 
time  a  boy  of  about  eight  years,  who  was  hanging  at  the  back 
of  the  old  woman,  began  to  retrace  their  steps  towards  the 
sea.  Fortunately  for  the  young  savage,  they  were  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  boat,  and  their  way  lay  through  woods,  which 
increased  both  the  danger  and  difficulty  of  their  return.  Nor 
was  the  girl  disposed  to  submit  tranquilly  to  her  captors,  but 
by  the  violence  of  her  cries,  and  by  her  vigorous  resistance, 
showed  them,  that  it  is  often  easier  to  attempt,  than  to  accom- 
plish an  injustice.  At  last,  wearied  with  the  fruitless  struggle, 
and  perhaps  not  wholly  free  from  the  apprehension  of  danger 
from  the  natives,  they  released  her  and  contented  themselves 
with  their  less  troublesome,  though  less  valued  prize,  the 
boy.* 

The  remarks  which  Verrazzano  made  upon  this  part  of  the 
coast,  and  which  were  collected  during  the  three  days  that  his 
ship  lay  at  anchor  off  the  shore,  give  a  favorable  idea  of  his 
habits  of  observation,  although  they  contain  nothing  which 
would  now  be  thought  worth  preserving.  We  shall  venture, 
however,  to  follow  him  on  his  visit  to  the  harbors  of  New  York 
and  Newport. 

*  This  boy  reached  France  in  safety,  as  appears  from  the  letter  of 
Carli ;  but  we  know  not  what  became  of  him  afterwards. 


336  VERRAZZANO. 

A  northwesterly  course,  which  he  pursued  without  varia- 
tion for  a  hundred  leagues,  sailing  only  during  the  day  and 
casting  anchor  at  night,  soon  brought  him  to  the  shores  of 
New  Jersey.  He  here  came  upon  a  beautiful  spot,  situated 
among  hills,  through  which  a  vast  river  rolled  its  waters 
towards  the  ocean.  There  was  water  enough,  at  its  mouth, 
for  a  ship  of  any  burden ;  but  he  resolved  to  try  the  passage 
first  in  his  boat.  Rowing  cautiously  forward,  he  was  soon 
met  by  the  natives,  who,  far  from  giving  any  signs  of  fear, 
advanced  towards  him  with  joyful  gestures  and  shouts  of 
admiration.  Numbers  also  were  hastening  over  from  the  op- 
posite shore,  and  eagerly  pressing  forward  to  catch  a  sight  of 
the  strangers.  But,  in  the  midst  of  this  novel  scene,  the  wind, 
suddenly  rising,  began  to  blow  with  great  violence ;  and  before 
he  had  penetrated  beyond  half  a  league  into  the  beautiful  lake 
(bettissimo  lago,)  which  seemed  so  inviting,  he  was  compelled 
to  return  to  his  ship,  and,  weighing  anchor,  take  his  course 
eastward. 

He  passed  Block  Island,  which  struck  him  by  its  resem- 
blance to  the  Island  of  Rhodes.  This  is  the  only  spot  which 
he  speaks  of  as  having  named.  He  called  it  Louisa,  in  honor 
of  the  mother  of  his  patron.  Fifteen  leagues  more  brought 
him  to  the  harbor  of  Newport.  He  had  not  yet  entered  the 
port,  when  his  vessel  was  surrounded  by  nearly  thirty  canoes, 
filled  with  wondering  savages.  At  first,  none  ventured  to 
approach  the  ship ;  but,  stopping  at  the  distance  of  about  fifty 
paces,  they  sat  gazing  in  silent  admiration  at  the  strange 
objects,  which  had  thus  risen  like  magic  before  them.  Then 
of  a  sudden,  giving  vent  to  their  feelings,  they  broke  out 


VERRAZZANO.  337 

into  a  long  shout  of  joy.  The  seamen,  on  the  other  hand, 
did  all  they  could  to  win  their  confidence,  and  soon  succeeded 
in  alluring  them  sufficiently  near,  to  catch  the  beads  and  bells 
and  such  like  toys,  which  were  thrown  to  them.  At  sight 
of  these,  every  apprehension  vanished,  and,  smiling  as  they 
contemplated  them,  they  drew  nigh  and  entered  the  ship. 
Among  them  were  two  kings,  whose  forms,  if  we  may  trust 
Verrazzano,  were  of  the  finest  mould.  One  seemed  to  be 
about  forty,  the  other,  twenty-four  years  of  age.  The  elder 
was  arrayed  in  a  robe  of  deer  skins,  skilfully  wrought  with 
rich  embroidery.  His  head  was  bare,  with  the  hair  carefully 
tied  behind.  His  neck  was  adorned  with  a  large  chain,  set 
off  with  various-colored  stones.  The  dress  of  the  younger 
was  nearly  the  same.  The  appearance  of  the  people  cor- 
responded to  the  fine  make  of  their  sovereigns.  Their  com- 
plexion was  remarkably  clear ;  their  features  regular ;  their 
hair  long,  and  dressed  with  no  ordinary  degree  of  care ;  their 
eyes  black  and  lively ;  their  whole  aspect  pleasing,  and  bear- 
ing a  striking  resemblance  to  that  cast  of  countenance,  which 
distinguishes  the  busts  of  the  ancients.  In  short,  to  borrow 
the  language  of  the  discoverer,  "  they  were  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  genteel  mannered  people  he  had  met  with  in  all  his 
voyage."  Nor  do  the  females  seem  to  have  appeared  less 
attractive,  and,  though  viewed  only  at  a  distance,  to  have 
made  a  less  favorable  impression  upon  our  mariners.  Like 
the  men,  they  were  in  part  naked,  and  in  part  attired  in 
highly  ornamented  skins.  Their  hair  was  studiously  decked 
with  ornamental  braids,  which  were  left  free  to  fall  upon 
the  breast.     Some  wore  rich  skins  upon  their  arms,  and  a 

29 


338  VERRAZZANO. 

certain  distinction  of  dress  seems  to  have  been  observed  by 
those  of  different  ages  and  conditions ;  for  the  more  advanced 
in  years  wore  their  hair  like  the  females  of  Syria  and  of 
Egypt,  while  those  who  were  married  were  distinguished  by 
variously  formed  pendants  in  their  ears.  The  natives  seem 
moreover  to  have  been  fully  sensible  of  the  charms  of  their 
females ;  for,  although  repeatedly  asked  and  even  urged  to 
allow  them  to  enter  the  ship,  they  could  never  be  prevailed 
upon  to  consent,  or  trust  them  within  reach  of  the  Europeans. 
So  that,  while  the  males  were  amusing  themselves  on  board, 
their  wives  and  daughters  were  constrained  to  wait  for  them 
in  their  canoes,  and  could  only  gratify  their  curiosity  by  a 
distant  view. 

During  a  stay  of  more  than  fifteen  days,  Verrazzano  con- 
tinued his  observations  upon  the  country  and  its  inhabitants. 
With  regard  to  the  latter,  besides  the  qualities  of  which  we 
have  already  spoken,  he  was  particularly  struck  with  their  total 
ignorance  of  the  value  of  gold,  and  the  preference  which  they 
gave  to  beads  and  toys  over  more  costly  and  useful  objects. 
He  made  several  excursions  up  Narragansett  Bay,  and  exam- 
ined it  with  considerable  attention.  To  those  who  have  traced 
the  windings  of  its  lovely  shores,  his  rapturous  descriptions 
will  hardly  seem  exaggerated ;  and,  although  the  Indian  canoe 
no  longer  sports  upon  its  waters,  and  the  woods  which  shaded 
its  main  land  and  islands  have  given  place  to  the  corn-field 
and  the  neat  cottage  of  the  husbandman,  yet  the  eyes  that  have 
dwelt  on  them  through  the  first  years  of  life,  will  scarcely  fail 
to  recognise,  even  in  their  present  form,  the  original  outlines 
of  his  glowing  picture. 


VERRAZZANO.  339 

His  voyage  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  On  the  6th  of 
May,  he  bade  adieu  to  the  friendly  natives  of  Rhode  Island, 
and,  coasting  along  towards  the  north,  explored,  without 
landing,  an  extent  of  two  hundred  leagues.  The  spot,  where 
he  now  cast  anchor,  seemed  the  reverse  of  all  those  which 
he  had  hitherto  visited.  The  woods  were  dense,  and  filled 
with  the  trees  of  a  colder  climate ;  the  soil  barren,  or  barely 
yielding  a  scanty  supply  of  roots.  The  inhabitants,  also, 
clothed  in  the  skins  of  wolves  and  bears,  seemed  to  share  in 
the  rugged  nature  of  the  land  in  which  they  dwelt.  They 
repulsed  every  attempt  at  friendly  intercourse,  and  held  no 
further  communication  with  the  ship  than  was  necessary,  in 
order  to  secure  the  exchange  of  some  of  their  own  commo- 
dities for  the  hooks  and  knives  and  sharpened  steel  of  the 
strangers.  Nor  did  they  go  to  the  ship  or  suffer  the  seamen 
to  land  to  carry  on  their  bargain ;  but,  standing  upon  the 
rocks,  they  passed  the  articles  of  exchange  backwards  and 
forwards  by  a  long  cord,  and,  as  soon  as  the  trade  was  com- 
pleted, hastened  back  to  their  woods.  In  spite  of  this  threat- 
ening reception,  Verrazzano  landed,  penetrated  several  miles 
into  the  country,  examined  some  of  the  huts  of  the  natives, 
and  succeeded  in  forming  some  idea  of  their  condition  and 
manner  of  life.  On  his  return  they  followed  close  upon  his 
track,  discharging  their  arrows,  and  venting  their  hostility  in 
wild  cries  of  impotent  rage. 

Leaving  this  inhospitable  shore,  the  intrepid  navigator  still 
held  his  course  onward,  following  the  line  of  the  coast,  till 
within  nearly  the  fiftieth  degree  of  northern  latitude.  Thirty- 
two  islands,  all  lying  near  to  the  shore,  were  discovered  in  the 


340  VERRAZZANO. 

course  of  fifty  leagues.  The  ports  and  passages,  formed  by 
their  juxtaposition,  reminded  him  of  the  Adriatic  along  the 
coast  of  Dalmatia.  His  provisions  now  began  to  fail,  and  a 
broad  space  of  unknown  sea  still  separated  him  from  France. 
The  object  of  his  voyage  had  been  in  a  great  measure  ac- 
complished. He  had  discovered  above  seven  hundred  leagues 
of  a  new  world,  and  held  sufficient  communication  with  the 
inhabitants  to  enable  him  to  form  some  idea  of  their  state  and 
character.  Yielding  to  these  considerations,  he  bore  away  for 
Europe.  His  passage  was  prosperous ;  and  he  entered  the 
port  of  Dieppe  early  in  the  month  of  July,  1524,  about  five 
months  and  a  half  from  the  day  of  his  departure  from  the  rock 
near  Madeira. 

He  now  hastened  to  transmit  to  the  king  a  full  narrative 
of  his  voyage.  This  forms  the  celebrated  letter  to  Francis 
First,  the  only  authentic  document  concerning  Verrazzano, 
which  has  reached  us.  And  Ramusio,  to  whom  we  are  in- 
debted for  the  preservation  of  it,  says,  that,  even  in  his  time, 
nothing  else  relative  to  him  could  be  found,  all  having  per- 
ished during  the  last  fatal  wars  of  Florence.  Enough,  how- 
ever, is  contained  in  this  letter,  to  give  a  general  idea  of  the 
character  of  the  writer,  and  enable  us  to  form  a  tolerable  esti- 
mate of  his  qualifications  for  the  hazardous  career  in  which  he 
was  engaged. 

That  he  was  possessed  of  the  first  and  most  important  of 
these,  firmness  and  modest  courage,  is  sufficiently  evident 
from  the  whole  tenor  of  his  narrative.  And  the  tone  of  this 
production  is  so  peculiar  and  so  strikingly  characteristic,  that 
the  author,  without  once  speaking  of  himself,  and  without 


VERRAZZANO.  341 

seeking,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  to  give  weight  to  his  own 
acts  and  opinions,  leaves  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  a 
distinct  and  lively  impression  of  the  superiority  of  the  individ- 
ual, whose  exploits  he  is  studying.  He  was  occasionally  led 
away  by  the  prevailing  passion  of  the  age,  and  predisposed 
to  discover  qualities  in  the  soil  and  nature  of  the  countries 
he  discovered,  which  were  not  always  warranted  by  their 
actual  appearance;  yet  there  is  a  general  air  of  exactness 
in  his  remarks,  and  a  tact  in  seizing  upon  the  most  striking 
features  in  the  aspect  as  well  of  the  country  as  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, which  would  justify  us  in  attributing  to  him  no  common 
powers  of  observation.  He  makes  no  attempts  at  combining 
his  scattered  remarks  into  a  systematic  description,  —  that 
species  of  combination  which  affords  the  best  proof  of  a  philo- 
sophic mind,  when  supported  by  a  broad  basis  of  facts,  and  of 
a  superficial  one,  when  that  basis  is  neglected.  There  are 
only  one  or  two  instances,  also,  where  he  indulges  in  the  habit, 
so  common  to  travellers,  of  making  use  of  that  which  they 
see  and  hear,  in  order  to  discover  a  thousand  things  which 
they  can  neither  see  nor  hear ;  of  perverting  those  analogies, 
which  are  so  sure  when  applied  to  nature,  and  so  uncertain 
when  applied  to  man,  unless  the  application  be  accompanied 
by  a  perfect  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances  which  vary 
and  modify  our  nature  in  every  form  of  society.  He  writes 
as  a  European,  and  consequently  employs  terms,  that  are  not 
always  adapted  to  the  state  of  society  which  he  describes.  His 
kings  are  represented  as  surrounded  by  their  gentlemen  of 
attendance ;  the  queen,  by  her  ladies.  These,  however,  are 
but  words,  and  their  import  is  corrected  by  the  whole  tenor  of 

29* 


342  VERRAZZANO. 

the  passages  in  which  they  are  found.  He  evidently  aims  at 
nothing  more,  than  a  plain  and  faithful  description  of  what  he 
had  done  and  seen. 

The  letter  closes  with  a  cosmographical  exposition  of  his 
voyage.  From  this  we  learn  with  what  views  he  actually 
set  out,  and  in  what  manner  he  had  reasoned  upon  those  won- 
derful discoveries  which  had  produced  so  complete  a  revolu- 
tion in  the  science  of  geography.  The  discovery  of  a  passage 
to  Cathay  was  the  end  that  he  proposed  to  accomplish ;  and, 
though  he  was  already  convinced,  that  Europe  and  Asia  were 
separated  towards  the  west  by  a  vast  tract  of  intervening 
land,  yet  he  felt  equally  sure  that  some  strait  must  necessari- 
ly open  a  passage  through  it  to  India.  He  enters  upon  this 
disquisition  with  the  zeal  of  a  man  confident  in  the  soundness 
of  his  theories ;  and,  as  the  voyage  which  he  had  completed 
was  but  a  prelude  to  the  greater  undertakings  which  he  had 
projected,  he  endeavors,  by  the  exactness  and  fulness  of  his 
reasoning,  to  inspire  his  patron  with  the  same  feelings.  The 
minute  details  and  observations,  of  a  character  more  strictly 
professional,  had  been  carefully  noted  in  another  work,  to 
which  he  refers  for  a  fuller  view  of  his  nautical  system.  This 
work  has  unfortunately  shared  in  the  Tate  of  all  that  belonged 
to  Verrazzano,  either  having  perished  with  its  author,  or  being 
lost  among  the  confused  miscellanies  of  some  French  or  Italian 
library. 

The  return  of  the  successful  navigator  was  hailed  with  the 
warmest  expressions  of  joy.  All  hopes  of  again  seeing  him 
had  long  been  given  over ;  and  many  had  lamented,  and  still 
more  had  blamed,  the  temerity,  which  had  exposed  him  to 


VERRAZZANO.  343 

a  wretched  death  among  the  frozen  waters  of  the  Northern 
ocean.  But  no  sooner  was  it  known,  that  he  had  not  only 
arrived  in  safety,  but  had  actually  succeeded  in  discovering  an 
extensive  tract  of  land,  till  then  unknown  even  to  the  boldest 
navigators  of  the  age,  than  he  was  greeted  as  a  man  of  the 
highest  powers,  and  worthy  to  be  classed  with  the  first  mem- 
bers of  his  profession.  The  cupidity  of  commerce,  too,  was 
suddenly  awakened.  The  result  of  his  interview  with  the  king 
was  looked  for  with  the  greatest  anxiety.  Hardly  any  doubt 
was  entertained  concerning  the  success  of  his  representations, 
or  that  he  would  be  immediately  despatched  to  prosecute  his 
undertaking,  with  means  better  proportioned  to  its  magnitude 
and  importance.  The  merchants  of  Lyons  were  already  revel- 
ling in  visions  of  the  wealth,  that  was  to  pour  in  upon  them 
from  these  new  sources. 

Whether,  however,  another  voyage  ever  took  place,  or 
whether  the  plans  of  Verrazzano  and  his  friends  were 
thwarted  by  some  sudden  change  in  the  feelings  of  Francis, 
or  by  the  disasters  which  followed  the  fatal  battle  of  Pavia, 
are  questions  around  which  historians  have  drawn  so  thick  a 
veil  of  doubts  and  contradictions,  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  fix  upon  any  opinion,  that  should  appear  equally  satisfac- 
tory to  all  classes  of  readers.  But,  as  all  our  knowledge  of 
the  rest  of  Verrazzano's  life  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the 
solution  of  this  question,  we  shall  endeavor  to  state,  as  clearly 
and  succinctly  as  is  compatible  with  the  nature  of  the  sub- 
ject, the  principal  points  at  issue,  and  the  result  of  our  own 
inqu  ries. 

Ramusio,  a  contemporary  of  Verrazzano,  to  whose  care,  as 


344  VERRAZZANO. 

has  already  been  said,  we  are  indebted  for  the  preservation  of 
the  only  authentic  document  that  we  possess  concerning  him, 
positively  asserts,  that  he  set  out  a  second  time,  in  order  to 
pursue  his  discoveries  in  the  west.*  The  course  and  details 
of  this  voyage  are  not  given ;  but  in  Ramusio's  time  it  was 
generally  believed,  that  Verrazzano,  upon  landing  on  the 
coast,  was  overpowered  by  the  natives,  and  eaten  within  sight 
of  his  companions.  The  scene  of  this  horrid  event  is  not 
known ;  but  the  ship  must  have  returned,  or  how  could  the 
fatal  tidings  have  reached  France  ?  Such  was  the  contem- 
porary belief  concerning  the  death  of  Verrazzano.  The  fate 
of  Magellan  and  that  of  Cortoreal  add  not  a  little  to  its 
probability. 

This  statement  is  contradicted  by  Charlevoix,  who,  howev- 
er, rejects  only  one  part  of  it,  its  tragic  conclusion.f  He  ac- 
knowledges that  a  second  voyage  was  undertaken ;  but  says 
that  nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  the  ship  or  of  its  crew. 
He  gives  it  out  also  as  certain,  that  the  mysterious  fate  of 
Verrazzano  long  deterred  the  French  from  making  any  new 
attempts  in  the  career  which  he  had  opened. 

The  next  story  is  that  advanced  by  the  author  of  the 
Chronological  Essay  on  the  History  of  Florida.}  This 
writer  asserts,  but  upon  what  grounds  it  would  be  difficult  to 

*  Ramusio,  Tom.  IIL  p.  438. 

t  Charlevoix,  Tom.  I.  ut  supra. 

X  This  work  we  have  not  seen,  but  quote  from  Tiraboschi.  Vol.  VII. 
p.  262.  His  quotation  also  appears  to  have  been  taken  at  second  hand ; 
but  it  is  acknowledged  that  the  author  brings  no  proof  in  confirmation 
of  his  assertion,  a  circumstance,  which,  in  treating  of  facts  so  remote, 
and  so  variously  related,  would  of  itself  be  sufficient  to  cast  strong  sus- 
picions upon  his  testimony. 


VERRAZZANO.  345 

guess,  that  Verrazzano  was  taken  by  the  Baskians  in  1524, 
carried  by  them  first  to  Seville,  thence  to  Madrid,  and  there 
hanged. 

The  most  serious  objection  to  the  account  given  by  Ramu- 
sio  was  advanced  by  Tiraboschi,  in  the  short  account  of  the 
life  of  Verrazzano,  which  he  has  inserted  in  the  seventh  vol- 
ume of  his  History  of  Italian  Literature.  It  is  founded  upon 
a  passage  in  one  of  the  letters  of  Hannibal  Caro,  which  had 
until  then  escaped  the  attention  of  all  who  had  engaged  in 
this  obscure  subject.  The  letter  is  addressed  from  Castro  to 
the  members  of  the  household  of  Monsignor  de'  Gaddi ;  and 
contains  a  humorous  account  of  a  journey  which  Caro  was 
then  making.*  Addressing  the  different  members  of  the  family 
in  turn,  he  proceeds  thus;  "As  for  you ,  Verrazzano,  a  dis- 
coverer of  new  worlds  and  their  wonders,  I  cannot  as  yet  tell 
you  any  thing  worthy  of  your  map,  for  we  have  not  thus  far 
passed  through  any  country,  which  had  not  been  already  dis- 
covered by  you  or  by  your  brother."  From  this  remarkable 
passage,  Tiraboschi  conjectures,  that  Giovanni  himself,  and 
not  his  brother,  a  person  wholly  unknown  to  the  writers  of 
the  age,  was  the  individual  addressed ;  that  having  been  badly 
rewarded  for  his  services  to  France,  he  had  been  constrained 
to  seek  a  sustenance  by  taking  service  in  the  family  of  Bishop 
Gaddi ;  and  that  consequently  the  statement  of  Ramusio,  is 
incorrect ;  or  that  the  second  voyage  of  which  he  speaks,  took 
place  much  later  than  was  generally  supposed.  He  adds, 
however,  that  the  uncertainty  which  hangs  over  the  life  of 

*  '•  Delle  Letters  Familiari  del  com.  Annibal  Caro."  Venetia,  1587, 
apprcsso  Bernardo  Giunti.     Tom.  I.  pp.  6,  7. 


346  VERRAZZANO. 

Verrazzano  is  so  great,  as  to  render  it  impossible  to  come  to 
any  satisfactory  conclusion. 

Each  of  these  statements  will  doubtless  seem  more  or  less 
probable  to  different  readers,  according  to  their  particular 
manner  of  weighing  historical  evidence.  There  are  difficul- 
ties in  all,  which  no  process  can  reconcile,  and  which,  what- 
ever view  we  take  of  the  subject,  can  hardly  be  gotten  over. 
Yet  on  the  other  hand,  so  many  circumstances  seem  to 
concur  in  favor  of  one  statement  and  against  all  the  others, 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  refrain  from  leaning  decidedly 
towards  it. 

The  author  of  the  Chronological  Essay  upon  the  History 
of  Florida  has  not,  as  far  as  we  have  been  able  to  ascertain, 
found  a  single  follower.  It  may  be  said  of  Charlevoix,  that 
the  whole  of  that  part  of  his  work  which  relates  to  Verraz- 
zano, is  exceedingly  inaccurate  and  fanciful.  He  not  only 
misrepresents  his  language,  but,  with  the  letter  to  Francis 
before  him,  gives  a  wrong  date  to  the  voyage,  placing  it  a 
year  later  than  it  really  took  place,  and  making  Verrazzano 
guilty  of  the  extravagance  of  addressing  himself  to  Francis  for 
encouragement,  at  a  time  when  that  monarch  was  a  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  the  Spanish,  uncertain  and  anxious  for  his 
own  fate.  Neither  does  he  pretend  to  tell  us  why,  or  by 
what  authority,  he  so  boldly  rejects  the  narrative  of  Ramusio. 
He  even  attributes  the  interruption  of  the  French  voyages 
of  discovery  to  the  terror  inspired  by  the  fate  of  Verrazzano ; 
and,  although  this  forms  one  of  those  pretty  chains  of  cause 
and  effect,  with  which  some  historians  are  fond  of  adorning 
their  pages,  yet  for  those  who  are  disposed  to  believe  it,  it 


VERRAZZANO.  347 

may  not  be  useless  to  observe,  that  this  part,  at  least,  applies 
equally  well  to  Ramusio's  account  of  the  common  belief  of 
his  age. 

The  passage,  which  we  have  cited  from  the  letters  of  Caro, 
is,  as  far  as  we  know,  the  only  argument  that  can  be  reasona- 
bly urged  against  the  current  tradition.  But  even  this  admits 
of  an  explanation ;  nor  do  we  see  the  necessity  of  adopting 
the  conjecture  of  Tiraboschi,  although  his  authority  be  of  the 
highest  order. 

In  the  first  place,  the  second  conjecture  of  this  acute  critic, 
namely,  that  Verrazzano's  last  voyage  was  subsequent  to 
his  residence  in  Rome,  may  be  easily  reconciled  with  the 
account  given  by  Ramusio,  who  does  not  attempt  to  fix  the 
date  of  this  voyage.  This,  however,  we  must  confess,  seems 
highly  improbable ;  nor  would  it  be  so  easy  to  account  for 
the  long  silence  in  which  Verrazzano  was  lost,  during  the 
thirteen  years  which  had  elapsed  between  his  first  voyage 
and  the  writing  of  Caro's  letter.  It  seems  far  more  probable, 
that  he  was  immediately  despatched  upon  his  second  expedi- 
tion, while  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  the  first  was  still  warm, 
and  before  Francis  had  advanced  into  Italy  upon  his  unfor- 
tunate attack  on  the  Duchy  of  Milan.  Verrazzano  returned 
to  France  in  July ;  we  learn  by  Carli's  letter,  that  he  was 
expected  at  Lyons  in  August;  Francis  entered  Italy  near 
the  beginning  of  October,  and  his  progress  there  was  suc- 
cessful up  to  the  24th  of  February,  in  the  following  year, 
(1525,)  on  which  day  he  was  defeated  and  made  prisoner  in 
the  battle  of  Pavia.*     Thus  there  was  time  enough  to  have 

*  Robertson,  "  Charles  V."  Book  IV.    Guicciardini,  Lib.  XV.  Cap.  5. 


348  VERRAZZANO. 

fitted  out  a  small  fleet,  long  before  this  last  event ;  nor  was 
any  thing  more  natural  for  a  monarch  like  Francis,  than  to 
continue,  during  the  exuberance  of  spirits  produced  by  his 
own  success,  a  career  of  adventure  which  promised  such 
happy  results  to  his  kingdom.  The  representations  also 
of  the  merchants  of  Lyons,  who,  as  we  learn  from  Carli, 
were  anxious  to  open,  by  means  of  Verrazzano,  a  com- 
munication with  the  lands  which  he  had  discovered,  must 
have  had  some  weight  with  the  King,  even  if  success  had  not 
always  been,  with  Francis,  a  sufficient  motive  for  engaging 
in  enterprises  far  more  hazardous  and  difficult.  Nor  was 
the  honor,  which  would  redound  to  him  from  the  subjection 
of  distant  territories,  a  slight  consideration  with  one  so  full 
of  the  conceits  of  chivalry;  nor  the  hope  of  sharing  or 
eclipsing,  in  this  new  world,  the  glory  of  the  Emperor, 
whose  throne  received  such  lustre  from  his  vast  possessions 
in  the  west,  a  prospect  likely  to  escape  the  attention  of  a 
sovereign,  whose  whole  life  was  one  long  contest  with  his 
hated  rival.  In  short,  there  are,  in  the  personal  character  of 
Francis  and  his  subjects,  and  in  the  state  of  his  affairs  at  the 
return  of  Verrazzano,  so  many  reasons  why  the  second  voyage 
should  have  been  immediately  undertaken,  that  we  know  not 
how  to  refuse  our  belief  to  the  contemporary  writers  who  say 
that  it  was. 

The  chief  difficulty  that  remains,  consists  in  the  appellation 
of  "discoverer"  as  applied  to  Verrazzano's  brother.  But 
this  is  not  so  great,  as  would  at  first  appear.  In  whatever 
way  we  read  the  passage,  both  as  it  stands  in  the  edition  cited 
by  Tiraboschi  and  in  the  one  before  us,  we  must  extend  the 


VERRAZZANO.  349 

honor  of  the  title  to  both  of  the  brothers.  Giovanni  was  un- 
doubtedly the  most  celebrated;  and,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Cabots,  the  glory  of  one  member  of  the  family  may  have 
thrown  a  shade  over  that  of  the  other.  But  we  can  see  no 
reason  for  supposing,  upon  the  ground  taken  by  Tiraboschi,* 
that  no  other  than  Giovanni  can  be  here  spoken  of,  when  the 
appellation  which  should  distinguish  him  is  applied  indiscrimi- 
nately to  both.  Nor  does  it  seem  a  slight  confirmation  of  this 
view,  that  the  active  life,  which  he  had  hitherto  led,  would  hard- 
ly have  admitted  of  his  settling  down  in  quiet  indolence,  among 
the  attendants  of  a  churchman,  while  the  spirit  of  adventure 
was  still  in  vigor  in  almost  every  part  of  Europe ;  although, 
on  the  contrary,  the  knowledge  of  the  horrid  fate  of  a  brother 
would  naturally  account  for  the  abandonment  of  his  profession 
by  the  individual,  whose  residence  at  Rome  is  placed  beyond 
all  doubt  by  the  testimony  of  Caro. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  add,  that  we  feel  strongly 
disposed  to  accept  of  Ramusio's  statement.  Apart  from  its 
claims  to  belief  as  the  current  contemporary  tradition,  it 
should  be  observed,  that  it  is  not  given  with  that  appearance 
of  indecision,  with  which  a  candid  historian  qualifies  the  nar- 
ration of  uncertain  events,  but  with  that  simple  exactness 
with  which  we  repeat  a  notorious  and  well-authenticated  fact. 

*  "  Che  non  siano  state  scoperte  da  voi  o  da  vostro  fratello."  If  the  o 
were  changed  into  e,  Tiraboschi's  conclusion  would  seem  to  be  a  neces- 
sary consequence  of  the  passage ;  but,  as  it  now  reads,  and  we  have  con- 
sulted more  than  one  edition,  it  seems  evident,  that  each  of  the  brothers 
is  meant  to  be  spoken  of,  as  an  original  discoverer.  That  the  name  of 
the  person  addressed  should  stand  first,  is  but  a  common  form  of  episto- 
lary courtesy. 

30 


350  VERRAZZANO. 

When,  moreover,  we  consider  the  zeal,  with  which  Ramusio 
devoted  the  greater  part  of  a  long  life  to  the  subject  of  mari- 
time discovery;  the  opportunities  which  he  enjoyed  of  de- 
riving his  information  from  Verrazzano's  personal  friends; 
his  extensive  correspondence  with  some  of  the  most  distin- 
guished navigators,  as  well  as  with  many  of  the  first  literary 
men  of  the  age ;  and  that  his  celebrated  collection  was  made 
at  no  greater  distance  than  Padua,  where  nothing  short  of 
the  grossest  negligence  could  have  kept  him  in  ignorance  of 
the  existence  of  Verrazzano,  at  Rome,  but  a  few  years  pre- 
vious, and  in  the  family  of  a  well-known  prelate ;  the  evi- 
dence in  favor  of  his  correctness  seems  to  be  placed  beyond 
all  doubt. 

But,  was  the  second  voyage  really  his  last;  and  was  it 
while  sailing  under  the  auspices  of  France,  or  under  those  of 
England,  that  he  met  with  so  sad  a  fate  ?  Such  was  the 
question  first  started  by  the  learned  author  of  the  Memoirs  of 
Sebastian  Cabot. 

In  1527  a  voyage  of  discovery  was  made  under  the  aus- 
pices of  Henry  VIII.  The  expedition  appears  to  have  been 
composed  of  two  ships,  the  Sampson  and  the  Mary  of  Guil- 
ford. The  pilot  of  one  of  these,  a  Piedmontese,  was  killed 
by  the  natives,  and  one  of  the  ships  was  lost  in  a  gale  off  the 
American  coast.  But  although  the  other  returned  in  safety, 
and  many  distinguished  men  were  said  to  have  taken  part  in 
the  voyage,  the  only  authentic  account  concerning  it  is  found 
in  a  letter  of  the  captain,  published  by  Purchas,  and  which  es- 
caped the  attention  of  the  industrious  and  learned  Hakluyt. 

We  learn,  however,  from  this  editor,  that  there  existed  in 


VERRAZZANO.  351 

England  a  map  of  the  American  coast  by  Verrazzano,  which 
the  celebrated  navigator  had  presented  to  Henry  VIIL,  and 
which  forms  the  basis  of  the  map  appended  by  Hakluyt  to  his 
early  work  of  Divers  Voyages,  published  in  1582. 

Now  when  did  Verrazzano  visit  England  ?  and  what  were 
the  circumstances  under  which  he  presented  his  map  to  the 
king?  We  are  still  in  the  sea  of  conjecture  with  only  here 
and  there  a  land-mark  by  which  to  shape  our  course. 

If  with  the  historian  of  Cabot  we  suppose  him  to  have 
taken  part  in  the  English  expedition  of  1527,  must  we  re- 
nounce our  belief  in  the  second  voyage  from  France?  Or 
was  there  sufficient  time  for  a  second  voyage  in  the  service 
of  Francis  before  he  entered  into  that  of  Henry  ?  We  have 
already  explained  at  length  our  own  view  concerning  this 
voyage,  and  the  converse  of  the  very  same  reasons  which  we 
have  adduced  in  its  favor,  would  be  sufficient  to  account  for 
the  neglect  with  which  the  navigator  would  have  been  re- 
ceived at  his  return,  however  great  the  success  of  his  expe- 
dition. It  was  to  England  that  the  mother  of  Francis  turned 
at  that  moment  of  universal  consternation ;  and  what  could  be 
more  natural  than  that  Verrazzano  also  should  have  sought  a 
protection  in  the  friend  and  ally  of  his  imprisoned  sovereign  ? 
In  this  case  we  must  qualify  Ramusio's  assertion  concerning 
the  companions  of  Verrazzano,  who,  according  to  this  editor, 
shared  in  his  melancholy  fate. 

But  how  could  Ramusio  have  remained  in  ignorance  of  so 
important  a  fact  as  the  passage  of  Verrazzano  from  the  ser- 
vice of  England  to  that  of  France?  In  the  short  paragraph 
which  he  has  devoted  to  this  subject,  he  speaks  of  the  pro- 


352  VERRAZZANO. 

tection  of  Francis  as  that  on  which  the  success  of  these  great 
enterprizes  depended,  and  though  he  does  not  explicitly  as- 
sert that  the  last  voyage  was  made  from  France,  yet  from  the 
language  which  he  employs,  it  is  evident  that  he  thought  so. 

And  on  the  other  hand  is  it  probable  that  so  diligent  and 
accurate  an  editor  as  Hakluyt  should  have  spoken  of  Verraz- 
zano's  map  in  such  high  terms,  and  have  selected  it  for  the 
basis  of  his  own,  unless  he  had  seen  and  examined  it  with 
his  own  eyes  ?  It  is  hardly  a  safe  conjecture  that  this  was 
the  map  alluded  to  by  Caro,  and  that  it  was  the  brother  who 
presented  it  to  Henry.  Hakluyt,  it  is  true,  says  that  it  was 
presented  by  Giovanni ;  but  he  also  says  that  Giovanni  had 
been  three  times  upon  the  American  coast,  which,  supposing 
him  to  have  perished  in  the  expedition  of  1527,  can  only  be 
sustained  by  adopting  our  conjecture  as  to  the  second  French 
voyage,  and  including  as  one  of  the  three  that  in  which  he  lost 
his  life.  In  short,  whichever  way  we  turn,  whatever  opinion 
we  adopt  there  are  doubts  which  cannot  be  met,  objections 
which  cannot  be  removed. 

All  that  we  know  with  certainty,  is,  that  one  great  action 
distinguished  him  from  the  mass  of  adventurers,  in  an  age 
which  had  produced  a  Columbus  and  a  Cabot ;  while  doubt 
and  mystery  have  enveloped  the  rest  of  his  career,  leaving  us 
uncertain  whether  we  should  lament  the  untimely  fate  which 
gave  him  a  prey  to  the  barbarous  appetite  of  cannibals,  or 
execrate  the  ingratitude  which  compelled  him  to  sacrifice  to  a 
struggle  with  the  daily  necessities  of  life,  a  mind  formed  for 
daring  and  successful  adventure. 


CHARLES  EDWARD- 


"  O,  better  loved  he  canna  be, 

Yet  when  we  see  him  wearing 
Our  Highland  garb  sae  gracefully, 

'T  is  aye  the  mair  endearing. 
Though  a'  that  now  adorns  his  brow 

Be  but  a  simple  bonnet, 
Ere  lang  we  Ml  see  of  kingdoms  three 

The  royal  crown  upon  it." 


As  you  enter  the  left  aisle  of  the  church  of  St.  Peter's,  the 
first  object  which  attracts  your  attention  is  a  marble  slab,  cut 
out  like  the  doors  of  a  vault,  with  two  figures  on  the  sides,  and 
three  heads  in  medallion  above.  In  the  character  of  these 
heads  there  is  nothing  very  remarkable,  although  the  artist 
has  evidently  given  to  every  feature  the  last  touches,  as  if  en- 
gaged upon  a  subject  worthy  of  the  highest  efforts  of  his  chisel. 
But  in  the  figures  at  the  sides  of  the  vault-door  there  is  some- 
thing so  sweet  and  so  touching,  such  a  mingling  of  grace  and 
solemnity  in  their  delicate  forms  and  thoughtful  countenances, 
that,  as  they  stand  there  with  their  faces  cast  down  and  their 
torches  reversed,  with  an  expression  rather  of  sadness  than  of 
poignant  grief,  a  feeling  of  sympathetic  melancholy  steals  over 
you  unawares,  and  you  instinctively  raise  your  eyes  once  more 

30* 


354  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

to  see  who  they  were,  whose  last  slumbers  are  guarded  by 
forms  of  such  angelic  beauty.  Then,  perhaps,  you  will  find 
something  more  than  you  could  distinguish  at  a  first  glance  — 
piety,  resignation,  and  somewhat  of  that  sorrow  which,  how- 
ever manfully  the  heart  may  bear  up  against  it,  still  ever 
leaves  traces  of  the  struggle  behind.  On  the  tablet  above 
are  engraved  in  golden  letters,  without  any  other  comment 
than  a  verse  of  Scripture,  which,  for  the  propriety  of  the 
allusion,  would  have  suited  any  tomb  as  well,  the  name3  of 
the  last  three  descendants  of  the  royal  house  of  Stuart. 

Of  two  of  these,  history,  of  which  this  great  fabric  is  so  full, 
has  but  little  to  record,  beyond  the  weakness  and  superstition 
of  the  father,  and  the  benevolence  and  purer  piety  of  the 
younger  son.  But  the  elder  has  left  a  brighter  trace  behind 
him,  and  for  a  while  bid  fair  to  rival  the  glories  and  redeem 
the  errors  of  his  race.  Then  came  a  dark  cloud,  and  the 
name  of  the  Stuarts  was  blotted  out  from  the  living  page  of 
history  for  ever.  It  is  to  the  heroic  daring,  and  romantic  ad- 
ventures of  this  brief  though  brilliant  period,  that  we  propose 
to  call  the  attention  of  our  readers  in  the  following  pages. 

The  year  1721  had  opened  under  happy  auspices  for  the 
partisans  of  the  Stuarts,  for  an  heir  had  been  born  to  the  throne, 
and  their  hopes  and  affections,  so  long  chilled  by  the  weakness 
of  the  father,  were  turned  with  double  warmth  to  the  son. 
All  the  pomp  of  royal  etiquette  had  been  rigorously  observed 
at  the  birth  of  Charles  Edward.  The  nobles  of  his  three 
kingdoms  had  been  summoned  to  attend  on  this  important 
occasion  ;  the  apartment  was  crowded  with  cardinals  and 
prelates  ;   rich  gifts  were  offered  around  the  cradle,  and  a 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  355 

royal  salute  from  the  cannon  of  St.  Angelo  showed  how  deep 
an  interest  the  Catholic  world  still  felt  in  the  fortunes  of  a 
family  which  had  sacrificed  a  throne  to  its  zeal  for  the  religion 
of  its  fathers. 

The  first  years  of  the  young  prince  were  passed  under  the 
eye  of  his  mother,  to  whom  he  is  supposed  to  have  been  in- 
debted for  that  heroic  fortitude  which  was  far  from  being  a 
family  trait,  and  in  which  his  father  was  so  singularly  deficient. 
One  of  his  earliest  instructors  was  the  Chevalier  de  Ramsay, 
the  friend  and  pupil  of  Fenelon.  Charles  Edward  soon 
spoke  English,  French,  and  Italian  with  equal  facility,  and  dis- 
played very  early  a  decided  taste  for  music.  But  in  other 
branches,  although  provided  with  good  masters,  his  progress 
was  far  from  being  great,  and  the  President  Des  Brosses,  who 
had  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  him  in  his  youth,  says 
that  his  mind,  at  twenty,  was  by  no  means  so  well  formed  as  it 
ought  to  have  been  in  a  prince  of  that  age.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, from  any  want  of  intelligence,  but  his  thoughts  were 
elsewhere,  and  Rome,  with  all  the  charm  of  her  arts  and  the 
grandeur  of  her  antiquities,  could  not  call  them  away  from 
their  favorite  subject  of  meditation.  The  presentiment  of  his 
destiny  seems  to  have  weighed  upon  him  from  a  child.  Eng- 
lish travellers  were  his  favorite  guests,  and  England  was  the 
favorite  topic  of  his  conversation.  On  a  sail  from  Gaeta  to 
Naples  his  hat  fell  into  the  sea.  The  sailors  were  for  putting 
about  to  row  after  it.  "  Let  it  alone,"  said  he ;  "  the  waves 
will  carry  it  to  England,  and  I  will  some  day  .or  other  go  there 
for  it  myself." 

When  fourteen  years  old,  he  followed  his  cousin,  Marshal 


356  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

Berwick,  to  the  siege  of  Gaeta.  The  trench  was  already 
opened,  and  immediately  upon  his  arrival  he  entered  it  and 
remained  some  time  there,  with  the  greatest  coolness,  in  the 
midst  of  a  shower  of  balls.  Next  day  he  went  to  wait  upon 
the  Marshal  at  his  quarters  in  a  house  against  which  the  ene- 
my were  directing  their  fire.  The  walls  were  riddled  with 
bullets,  and  his  attendants  made  every  effort  to  prevent  him 
from  entering ;  but  in  spite  of  all  their  entreaties,  in  which  the 
Marshal,  too,  had  vainly  united,  he  persisted  in  making  his 
visit.  All  these  little  traits  were  carefully  noted  by  his  adhe- 
rents, who  repeated  them  to  one  another  with  the  fondest  anti- 
cipations. "  Would  to  God,"  says  Marshal  Berwick  in  a  letter 
to  his  brother,  "  that  the  worst  enemies  of  the  Stuarts  could 
have  been  witnesses  of  his  conduct  during  the  siege.  It 
would  have  won  many  of  them  back  again." 

From  Gaeta  he  went  to  Naples,  where  he  produced  the 
same  favorable  impression  at  court,  by  the  grace  and  elegance 
of  his  manners,  which  he  had  done  at  the  army,  by  his  cool- 
ness and  intrepidity.  The  summer  following  he  made  a  cam- 
paign in  Lombardy,  and  two  years  after  visited  the  principal 
cities  of  Upper  Italy,  in  all  of  which  he  was  received  with  the 
honors  due  to  his  rank.  The  next  few  years  must  have  hung 
heavily  upon  his  hands,  for  he  had  tasted  just  enough  of  the 
excitement  of  active  life  to  feel  the  oppression  of  that  monoto- 
nous existence  where  one  day  passes  like  another,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  year  one  finds  himself  nearer  to  nothing  but  his 
grave.  His  passion  for  music  served  to  while  away  some 
portion  of  the  time,  and  the  weekly  concerts,  in  which  he 
played  the  violoncello  and  his  brother  sang,  were  frequented 


CHARLES  EDWARD.  357 

by  men  of  taste  as  the  best  music  in  Rome.  But  his  favorite 
amusement  was  the  chase,  which  gave  a  freer  play  to  his  na- 
tural vivacity,  and  enabled  him  to  preserve  the  active  habits 
he  had  formed  in  the  camp. 

Hunting  in  the  Pontine  marshes  is  not  that  tame  amuse- 
ment which  it  has  come  to  be  with  us.  You  build  a  hut  of 
boughs  and  branches,  or  clearing  away  the  earth  from  some 
moss-covered  ruin,  spread  a  bed  of  leaves  or  straw  in  one 
corner,  and  your  table  of  stone  in  another.  Here  you  come 
for  shelter  from  the  storm,  and  here  is  cooked  the  game 
which  you  have  won  during  the  day,  and  here  you  sleep. 
Around  you  expands  the  broad  tract  of  the  marshes,  with 
its  long  grass  and  green  trees,  so  beautiful  to  the  eye.  Be- 
fore you  is  the  deep  blue  of  the  Mediterranean,  where  you 
see  the  sun  set  with  a  glow  unknown  to  northern  climes; 
and  at  night  you  may  hear  afar  off  the  deep  murmur  of 
its  waves  mingling  with  the  solemn  voices  of  the  night  wind. 
Behind  you  and  at  your  side,  mountains,  girding  the  plain  as 
with  a  cincture,  and  swelling  upward,  one  behind  another? 
till  they  are  lost  in  the  distance.  The  Circean  cape  to  the 
south,  with  its  dark  outline  stretching  boldly  into  the  sea,  and 
reminding  you  of  Ulysses  and  Circe,  and  the  days  when  his- 
tory and  fable  were  one.  To  the  east  the  precipitous  wall  of 
the  Apennines,  with  Cora,  whence  Juno's  temple  looks  down 
upon  you  from  its  rocky  seat,  and  Massimo,  hanging  like  an 
eagle's  nest  amid  precipices  and  crags.  And  on  the  north 
the  gently  swelling  slope  of  the  Alban  mount,  with  the  white- 
walled  convent  that  crowns  its  wooded  cone,  and  the  vine, 
yards  and  olive-orchards  that  cluster  in  rich  profusion  around 


358  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

its  base.  And  the  game  is  worthy  of  a  scene  where  every 
object  carries  you  back  to  days  in  which  the  chase  was  a  living 
image  of  war ;  the  boar,  with  his  bristled  skin,  his  foam- 
covered  tusks  and  flaming  eyes.  The  dogs,  a  strong,  bold 
breed,  and  trained  to  the  deadly  sport,  rouse  the  fierce  animal 
from  his  lair,  and,  yelling  wildly  on  his  track,  tell  you  where 
to  look  for  your  prey.  On  he  comes,  with  a  quick,  short  step, 
grinding  his  teeth,  until  the  foam  flies  from  them  like  spray, 
his  small  eyes  glowing  like  living  fire,  and  breaking  his  way 
through  brush  and  brake  with  headlong  speed.  Every 
huntsman  has  his  stand  in  the  space  through  which  he  is 
expected  to  pass,  and  each  fires  in  turn,  as  he  draws  nigh ; 
but  it  is  a  quick  hand  and  a  sure  eye  and  perfect  coolness 
alone  that  can  give  you  success.  Wo  to  the  poor  dog  that  is 
first  to  approach  him,  when,  maddened  by  pain,  and  with 
speed  diminished  by  the  loss  of  blood,  he  turns  for  the  final 
struggle.  Some  are  ripped  up  by  a  single  thrust  of  his  tusks, 
some  tossed  in  the  air,  some  crushed  beneath  him  as  he  falls ; 
and  not  unfrequently  the'huntsman  too,  counts  himself  happy, 
if  a  slight  flesh-wound  is  the  only  mark  which  he  bears  away 
from  the  deadly  contest. 

Such  scenes  were  for  Charles  Edward  no  bad  preparation 
for  what  he  was  so  soon  to  undergo,  in  guiding  the  last  effort 
of  the  Stuarts  for  the  throne  of  their  fathers.  At  length,  the 
long  wished-for  moment  seemed  to  have  arrived.  France 
was  on  the  point  of  taking  an  active  part  in  the  war  of  the 
Austrian  succession,  and  looked  to  a  rising  in  favor  of  the  ex- 
iled family  as  the  surest  means  of  finding  employment  for  the 
English  monarch  at  home.     A  body  of  fifteen  thousand  men 


CHARLES    EDWARD. 


359 


was  to  invade  England  under  the  command  of  Marshal  Saxe, 
and  all  the  principal  measures  were  to  be  concerted  at  Paris, 
with  Charles  Edward  himself.  Still  the  whole  negotiation 
was  enveloped  in  a  veil  of  the  deepest  mystery.  At  Rome 
the  Bailli  de  Tencin  and  Cardinal  Acquaviva  acted  as  agents 
for  France,  and  not  a  word  was  said  to  the  ambassador. 
Charles  Edward,  the  most  important  personage  in  the  whole 
drama,  was  to  be  kept  as  long  as  possible  in  the  background, 
and  to  conceal  both  his  departure  from  Rome  and  his  arrival 
at  Paris. 

A  hunting  party  to  the  marshes  was  made  the  pretext  for 
leaving  Rome,  and  the  Prince  pretending  to  have  sprained 
his  foot  on  the  road,  separated  from  his  companions,  and,  as- 
suming the  medal  and  dress  of  the  Spanish  courier,  pushed 
forward  for  Genoa.  Here  he  embarked  in  a  felucca  for  An- 
tibes.  The  wind  was  against  him,  and  he  was  compelled 
to  pass  through  the  midst  of  an  English  squadron,  enemies 
now,  but  soon,  he  hoped,  to  become  his  subjects  and  defenders. 
On  the  13th  of  January  he  reached  Antibes,  near  the  spot 
where,  seventy-one  years  later,  Napoleon  was  to  land  on  his 
return  from  Elba.  Reporting  himself  and  his  companion  to 
the  commandant  as  Englishmen,  under  the  names  of  Graham 
and  Mattock,  he  mounted  a  post-horse  and  took  the  road  for 
Paris.  At  Avignon,  he  had  an  hour's  interview  with  the 
Duke  of  Ormond,  and  by  the  20th  was  already  in  the  capital. 
Here  every  thing  seemed  to  favor  his  hopes.  The  army 
of  invasion  was  assembling  in  the  north  and  a  fleet  of  trans- 
ports at  Dunkirk.  Marshal  Saxe,  who  till  then  had  mani- 
fested but  little  inclination  for  the  enterprise  which  he  had 


360  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

been  chosen  to  command,  was  completely  won  over  by  the 
prince's  enthusiasm,  and  entered  heartily  into  his  views.  The 
king,  it  is  true,  still  refused  to  receive  him  at  court,  and 
his  negotiations  were  drawn  out  through  indirect  channels ; 
but  here,  at  last,  was  something  done,  and  something  doing, 
and  the  speedy  promise  of  more. 

But  all  these  bright  prospects  were  suddenly  overcast.  A 
tempest  scattered  the  French  and  English  fleets,  as  they  were 
upon  the  point  of  engaging,  and  wrecked  several  transports 
in  which  a  portion  of  the  troops  had  already  been  embarked. 
Marshal  Saxe  was  ordered  into  Flanders  to  take  command 
of  the  army,  with  which  he  fought,  next  year,  the  decisive 
battle  of  Fontenoy  ;  and  the  court  relapsed  into  that  system 
of  tergiversation  and  indifference  by  which  it  had  already 
tried  the  patience  of  the  Jacobites  so  severely.  Charles 
Edward  retired  to  Gravelines,  deeply  depressed,  but  not  dis- 
heartened ;  and  not  long  afterwards,  took  a  house  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Paris,  where,  to  use  his  own  words,  he 
led  the  life  of  a  hermit.  Months  passed  away  in  fruitless  re- 
monstrances and  negotiations,  until  he  became  convinced  that 
no  efficient  aid  could  be  expected  from  the  court  of  Versailles. 
It  has  been  subsequently  shown,  that  Louis  the  Fifteenth  had 
been  induced  to  abandon  an  enterprise  which  promised  him 
so  much  advantage  by  the  remonstrances  of  his  Protestant 
allies,  justly  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  so  formidable  an  ac- 
cession to  the  Catholic  cause. 

And  now  it  was  that  the  heroic  character  of  the  young 
prince  shone  out  in  full  lustre.  It  had  been  in  compliance 
with  the  wishes  of  his  adherents,  rather  than  his  own  free 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  361 

will,  that  he  had  consented  to  the  French  invasion  ;  for,  un- 
like a  prince  of  our  times,  his  heart  revolted  at  the  idea  of 
ascending  the  throne  of  his  fathers  under  the  escort  of  foreign 
bayonets.  His  partisans  were  far  from  sharing  his  scruples,, 
and  the  assistance  of  a  body  of  French  troops  was  a  condi- 
tion upon  which  they  had  constantly  insisted  throughout  alt 
their  negotiations.  This  they  could  no  longer  count  upon,, 
and  it  now  remained  to  be  decided  whether  the  enterprise 
should  be  abandoned,  or  made  with  such  forces  as  could  be 
raised  upon  the  spot. 

His  decision  was  promptly  taken,  and  fully  aware   how 
much  opposition  it  would  meet  with  in  every  quarter,  he  re- 
solved to  carry  on  his  preparations  with  all  possible  secrecy. 
There  was  living  at  that  time,  at  Nantes,  an  adherent  of  the 
Stuarts  by  the  name  of  Walsh,  whose  father  had  distinguished 
himself,  on  several  occasions,  by  his  devotion  to  the  exiled 
monarch,  and  had  received  the  title  of  Count  in  reward  for  his 
services.     The  son  had  engaged  in  commerce  and  privateer- 
ing, which,  according  to  the  ideas  of  Brittany,  were  no  spot 
upon  his  nobility.     To  him  it  was  that  Charles  Edward  ad- 
dressed himself  for  the   means  of  transportation,  and  by  his 
zeal     and    activity   an   old    ship   of   eighteen    guns,   called 
the  Elizabeth,  and  the  Doutelle,  a  frigate  of  twenty  guns, 
were   fitted   up,  as  if  for   a   cruise  to   the   northward,  and 
freighted   with    arms   and   ammunition.      Another  exile,   a 
banker,  named  Rutledge,  advanced  part  of  the  money,  and 
Charles  sent  word  to  his  friends  in  Rome  to  raise  what  they 
could  upon  his  jewels,  declaring  that  he  should  never  be  able 

31 


362  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

to  wear  them  with  any  degree  of  pleasure,  when  he  remem- 
bered how  much  better  they  might  have   been   employed. 

The  moment  that  his  preparations  were  completed,  he  set 
out  from  the  castle  of  Navarre,  where  he  had  been  staying  with 
his  friend  and  cousin  the  young  Due  de  Bouillon,  and  hastened 
with  the  utmost  secrecy  to  the  place  of  embarkation  at  St.  Na- 
zaire,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Loire.  The  letters  announcing  his 
intentions  to  his  father  and  to  the  king  of  France  were  kept 
back  until  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  remonstrance.  The  wind 
was  against  him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  curb  his  impa- 
tience for  a  few  days  longer.  At  last  it  changed  in  his  favor, 
and  on  the  2d  of  July,  1745,  entering  a  fisherman's  boat  in 
the  disguise  of  a  student  from  the  Scotch  college  at  Paris,  he 
was  quickly  wafted  to  the  side  of  the  Doutelle.  Walsh  him- 
self had  assumed  the  command ;  and  with  him  were  seven 
others,  devoted  adherents  of  the  exiled  family,  who  had  re- 
solved to  stand  by  their  prince  in  this  last  and  apparently 
desperate  effort  for  the  throne  of  his  fathers. 

On  the  12th,  they  were  joined  by  the  Elizabeth  at  the  ren- 
dezvous at  Belle  Isle,  and  spread  their  sails  for  Scotland. 
The  first  three  days  went  calmly  by ;  but  on  the  fourth  they 
descried  a  strange  sail,  which,  approaching  the  Elizabeth, 
hoisted  English  colors.  It  was  the  lion,  a  fifty-eight  gun 
ship,  commanded  by  Captain  Brett,  afterwards  Lord  Percy. 
The  Elizabeth  immediately  ranged  up  with  her,  and  opened  a 
destructive  fire.  For  several  hours  a  heavy  cannonade  was 
kept  up  on  both  sides,  during  which  both  captains  were 
wounded,  and  each  vessel  suffered  severely.  At  the  sound 
of  the  first  gun,  Charles  Edward,  forgetting  his  assumed  cha- 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  363 

racter,  hurried  to  the  deck,  calling  loudly  for  a  sword,  and 
insisting  that  the  Doutelle  should  come  in  for  her  part  of 
the  honors  of  the  combat.  "  Monsieur  P  Abbe,"  said  Walsh, 
taking  him  hastily  by  the  hand,  "  this  is  not  your  place ;  have 
the  goodness  to  withdraw  to  your  cabin."  The  combat  lasted 
till  nightfall,  when  both  ships,  being  too  much  disabled  to  keep 
the  sea,  sought  the  nearest  ports  as  best  they  could.  The 
Doutelle  held  on  her  course,  but  this  casual  encounter  de- 
prived the  young  prince  of  his  arms  and  stores,  which  had 
been  embarked  on  board  the  Elizabeth. 

Once  again  they  were  menaced  with  the  same  danger  from 
three  ships  of  war  which  they  fell  in  with  towards  the  south 
of  Long  Island,  and  only  escaped  by  keeping  close  under  the 
western  coast  of  Barra,  and  anchoring  between  South  Uist 
and  Eriska.  As  they  approached  the  land,  an  eagle  was  seen 
hovering  over  the  ship.  "  It  is  the  king  of  birds,"  said  the 
Marquis  of  Tullibardine,  "come  to  welcome  your  Royal 
Highness  to  Scotland."  It  was  on  the  21st  of  July,  and  with 
a  joyful  heart  Charles  Edward  set  foot,  for  the  first  time,  on 
the  soil  of  that  kingdom  towards  which,  from  earliest  child- 
hood, all  his  hopes  had  been  directed. 

His  first  care  was  to  despatch  a  messenger  to  Boisdale  of 
Clanranald,  by  whose  influence  over  the  mind  of  the  elder 
brother,  he  hoped  to  obtain  an  immediate  declaration  of  the 
clan.  Boisdale  obeyed  the  summons,  but  with  a  manner 
which  showed  there  was  little  to  be  hoped  from  the  inter- 
view. "  I  can  count  upon  MacDonald  of  Sleat,  and  the 
laird  of  MacLeod,"  said  the  prince.  "  Undeceive  yourself," 
was  the  inauspicious  reply  ;  they  have  both  resolved  not  to 


364  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

raise  a  single  man ;  unless  your  Royal  Highness  comes  at- 
tended with  regular  forces." 

This  was  a  bad  outset,  and  some  of  the  party,  it  is  said,  be- 
gan already  to  wish  themselves  safely  back  in  France.  Charles 
Edward  was  not  so  easily  discouraged,  but,  setting  sail,  held 
on  his  way  among  the  islands,  to  Loch  Nanuagh,  between 
Moidart  and  Arisaig,  where  he  again  cast  anchor. 

The  next  morning,  Clanranald  the  younger,  with  Mac- 
Donald  of  Kinloch,  and  the  lairds  of  Glenaladale  and  Dalily, 
came  to  wait  upon  him.  •  But  it  was  evident  that  they,  too, 
had  adopted  Boisdale's  opinion,  and  were  unwilling  to  risk 
their  fortunes  upon  so  hazardous  a  cast.  Charles  Edward 
put  forth  all  his  eloquence,  in  order  to  move  them;  and, 
finding  arguments  fruitless,  addressed  himself  to  their  feelings. 
"  I  am  your  prince,  your  countryman,  your  friend,"  said  he ; 
"  do  not  abandon  the  son  of  your  king ! "  In  the  group  on 
the  deck  was  a  younger  brother  of  MacDonald  of  Kinloch 
Moidart,  who,  without  knowing  the  full  purport  of  the  conver- 
sation, had  caught  enough  of  its  meaning  to  understand  how 
nearly  it  touched  the  loyalty  of  his  clan.  His  eyes  lighted  up, 
his  color  went  and  came,  and  in  the  warmth  of  his  emotions, 
he  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  claymore  with  an  energy  that  drew 
the  prince's  attention.  "  And  you,"  said  he,  turning  to  the 
only  one  who  appeared  to  feel  for  his  situation,  "  will  you 
not  fight  for  me  ?  "  "  Yes,"  replied  the  gallant  youth,  "  if  I 
were  the  only  one  in  all  Scotland  to  draw  my  sword,  I  would 
be  ready  to  die  for  you."  "  I  have  at  last  found  a  defender," 
cried  the  prince,  bursting  into  tears;  "give  me  but  a  few  more 
such  Scotchmen  as  this,  and  I  am  sure  of  my  father's  throne." 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  365 

The  impulse  was  irresistible,  and  the  chiefs,  giving  way  to  their 
enthusiasm,  swore,  with  one  accord,  to  lay  down  their  lives  in 
his  cause. 

Charles  Edward  now  landed,  sending  back  the  Doutelle  to 
France,  with  letters  to  his  father  and  the  king.  A  guard  of  a 
hundred  men  immediately  gathered  round  him,  and  from  every 
quarter  came  young  and  old,  men,  women  and  children,  flock- 
ing in  to  look  upon  the  face  of  their  natural  sovereign. 

Meanwhile,  measures  were  taking  for  raising  the  clans. 
Clanranald  went  in  person  to  Sir  Alexander  MacDonald, 
and  the  laird  of  MacLeod,  two  chiefs  of  great  influence,  who 
held  three  thousand  men  at  their  disposal.  But  they  per- 
sisted in  their  refusal  to  rise,  without  the  support  of  regular 
troops.  Lochiel,  chief  of  the  Camerons,  had  come  to  the 
same  decision,  but  resolved,  out  of  respect  to  the  prince,  to 
be  himself  the  bearer  of  these  unwelcome  tidings.  "  Do  not 
risk  it,"  said  his  brother ;  "  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  If  the  prince  once  sets  his  eyes  upon  you,  he 
will  do  with  you  whatever  he  pleases."  Lochiel  persisted, 
and,  repairing  to  Charles's  head-quarters,  frankly  declared 
his  disapprobation  of  the  enterprise.  "  'T  is  true,"  said  the 
prince,  "  I  am  come  alone,  when  you  looked  to  see  me  with 
an  army.  Evasive  answers,  and  hopes  which  perhaps  are 
false,  are  all  that  I  have  been  able  to  get  from  the  ministers 
of  Louis,  and  I  thank  Heaven  for  it.  Let  the  Elector  of 
Hanover  surround  himself  with  foreign  guards ;  it  is  to  the 
nation  itself  that  I  look  for  support.  The  first  victory  will, 
perhaps,  hasten  the  arrival  of  the  French,  who  will  then  come 
as  allies,  not  as  protectors."     "  Give  me  a  few  days  for  delib- 

31* 


366  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

eration,"  said  Lochiel,  deeply  moved  by  the  prince's  energy. 
"No,  no,"  replied  he,  with  increasing  animation,  "I  have 
already  a  few  friends  with  me.  With  these  I  shall  raise  the 
royal  standard,  and  announce  to  Great  Britain  that  Charles 
Stuart  is  come  to  reclaim  the  crown  of  his  ancestors,  or  perish 
in  the  attempt.  Lochiel,  whose  faith  and  friendship  my  father 
has  so  often  vaunted,  may  remain  at  home ;  the  newspapers 
will  tell  him  the  fate  of  his  prince."  This  bitter  reproach  was 
too  much  for  the  high-spirited  chieftain.  "  Be  it  what  it  may, 
I  will  share  it  with  you,  and  so  shall  all  those  over  whom  na- 
ture or  fortune  has  given  me  control." 

Without  loss  of  time  he  returned  home  to  gather  his  clan. 
This  was  all  that  Clanranald  was  waiting  for  in  order  to  call 
out  his  own ;  and  small  parties  were  soon  afoot  under  the 
MacDonalds  of  Keppoch  and  Tierndreich.  The  rendezvous 
was  fixed  at  Glenfinnin,  a  long,  narrow  valley,  watered  by 
the  little  torrent  of  Finnin  and  opening  on  Loch  Shiel,  with  a 
mound  in  the  centre,  on  which  the  royal  standard  was  to  be 
raised. 

Hither  Charles  Edward  repaired  on  the  morning  of  the 
19th  of  August;  but  not  a  plaid  was  to  be  seen,  and  the 
solemn  silence  of  a  mountain  solitude  overhung  the  glen. 
The  only  trace  of  living  thing  that  he  could  descry  was  a 
sombre  little  hut,  and  towards  this  he  directed  his  steps.  The 
occupants  received  him  with  respect,  but  could  give  him  no 
relief  from  his  perplexity.  It  was  eleven  in  the  morning, 
and  two  hours  had  passed  anxiously  away,  when  the  notes  of 
a  distant  pibroch  were  heard  among  the  hills.  As  the  sound 
became  more  distinct,  it  was  recognized  as  that  of  the  Cam- 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  367 

erons ;  and  shortly  after,  eight  hundred  clansmen  were  seen 
winding  their  way  through  the  pass  to  the  place  of  rendezvous. 
They  marched  in  two  columns,  and  brought  with,  them,  as  the 
first  fruits  of  their  rising,  two  companies  of  English,  whom 
they  had  made  prisoners.  All  now  gathered  around  the 
mound,  where  the  Marquis  of  Tullibardine,  the  royal  stand- 
ard-bearer, unfolded  the  royal  banner,  a  tissue  of  red  silk, 
with  a  white  space  in  the  centre.  As  its  broad  folds  opened 
upon  the  wind  the  mountaineers  threw  up  their  caps  into  the 
air  with  a  shout  which  scared  the  young  eagles  from  their 
nests  among  the  crags,  while  the  pibrochs  breathed  forth  the 
shrill  strain  of  their  songs  of  triumph,  so  deep  and  so  spirit- 
stirring,  among  the  echoes  of  the  hills.  And  then  was  read 
the  manifesto  of  James  the  Eighth,  proclaiming  Charles  Ed- 
ward regent  during  his  absence,  and  the  prince  himself,  taking 
the  word,  "  told  his  faithful  adherents  how  he  had  chosen  this 
part  of  Scotland  to  land  in,  because  he  knew  that  it  was  here 
he  should  find  the  truest-hearted  subjects  of  his  father,  and 
that  he  had  come  to  conquer  or  to  die  with  them."  When 
the  ceremony  was  completed,  a  guard  of  fifty  men  escorted 
the  banner  to  the  prince's  tent,  and  the  little  army  encamped 
in  the  valley  for  the  night. 

Small  as  his  army  was,  Charles  Edward  resolved  to  lose  no 
time  in  beginning  active  operations,  for  he  knew  that  every 
thing  depended  upon  the  first  impression,  and  that  one  success- 
ful blow  would  go  farther  than  a  thousand  declarations.  The 
alarm  had  been  given,  and  Sir  John  Cope  was  already  ad- 
vancing against  him  at  the  head  of  a  strong  body  of  regular 
forces,  with  the  hope  of  securing  the  passes  and  cooping  him 


368  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

up  among  the  mountains ;  nor  could  the  Jacobites  of  the  south 
be  expected  to  declare  themselves,  until  they  saw  some  means 
of  efficient  protection  at  hand.  He  advanced,  therefore,  di- 
rectly towards  his  adversary,  holding  his  way  through  those 
wild  mountain-passes  and  rugged  glens,  where  every  now  and 
then  some  little  band  came  to  swell  his  forces,  as  the  streams 
that  flowed  by  him  were  swollen  by  the  torrents  from  the 
hills.  Upon  reaching  Corryarrack,  the  first  news  that  he 
received  was  that  Cope  had  suddenly  renounced  his  plan  of 
invasion,  and  was  in  full  retreat.  "  Fill  me  a  cup  of  whis- 
key," cried  he,  on  hearing  these  unexpected  tidings,  and  turn- 
ing to  his  men,  "  I  give  you  the  health  of  this  good  Mr.  Cope, 
and  may  every  general  of  the  usurper  prove  as  much  our 
friend  as  he  has  been." 

A  pursuit  was  instantly  begun,  and  pushed  on  with  High- 
land impetuosity  as  far  as  Garvymore,  where  he  paused 
awhile  to  give  his  army  a  short  breathing-space.  But  why 
lose  more  time  in  following  an  enemy  who  already  gave  him- 
self up  for  conquered,  when  by  pressing  forward,  he  might 
seize  upon  the  capital,  gathering  in  his  adherents  all  along  the 
important  districts  through  which  he  would  pass,  and  striking 
terror  into  his  adversaries  by  a  blow  so  daring  and  so  unex- 
pected ?  "  To  Edinburgh,  to  Edinburgh !"  then,  was  the  uni- 
versal cry,  and  thither  he  directed  his  course,  marching  cheer- 
fully at  the  head  of  his  men,  with  his  Highland  bonnet  and 
plaid,  and  the  brogues  which  he  had  sworn  never  to  change 
until  he  had  beaten  his  enemy. 

At  Blair,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Athol,  the  clan  gathered 
promptly  around  the  Marquis  of  Tullibardine,  who,  by  all  the 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  369 

Jacobites,  was  looked  upon  as  the  real  duke.  As  the  young 
prince  continued  his  advance,  the  flame  spread  wider  and 
wider.  Sir  George  Murray  and  Lord  Nairne  came  to  offer 
him  their  swords,  and  the  laird  of  Gask  came  with  his  ten- 
antry, and  the  laird  of  Aldie  with  his,  and  as  he  approached 
Perth,  he  was  joined  by  the  duke,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred 
men.  He  was  now  in  the  midst  of  the  cherished  associations 
of  his  race,  for  Perth  had  been  the  favorite  residence  of  the 
three  Roberts  and  the  first  and  second  James,  and  at  a  short 
league's  distance  was  the  venerable  abbey  of  Scone,  where 
the  Scottish  kings  were  wont  to  receive  their  crown,  in  the 
days  of  Scotland's  freedom.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  in- 
habitants should  flock  out  to  meet  him,  welcoming  him  with 
feasts  and  acclamations,  and  that  blushing  dames  should  plead 
for  the  honor  of  a  kiss  from  his  royal  lips ! 

Here  he  staid  a  week,  in  order  to  introduce  a  little  more 
system  into  his  army,  and  exercise  his  men  to  some  general 
evolutions,  and  raise  a  small  contribution  among  the  inhab- 
itants ;  for  a  single  guinea  was  all  that  remained  of  the  money 
he  had  brought  with  him  from  France.  Here,  too,  he  issued 
several  proclamations,  and  among  them,  one  in  reply  to  the 
offer  of  thirty  thousand  pounds,  the  price  set  upon  his  head 
by  the  cabinet  of  London,  ever  ready  to  employ  any  means, 
however  infamous,  for  the  attainment  of  its  ends.  "  If  any 
fatal  occurrence,"  said  he,  at  the  close  of  his  proclamation,  in 
which  he  had  been  compelled,  by  the  importunities  of  his 
council,  to  imitate  a  conduct  which  he  reprobated  so  deeply, 
—  "  if  any  fatal  occurrence  should  be  the  consequence  of  this, 
may  the  blame  fall  exclusively  upon  those  who  were  the  first 


370 


CHARLES    EDWARD. 


to  set  so  infamous  an  example."  On  Sunday  he  attended 
church,  and  listened  with  an  air  of  deep  attention  to  a  sermon 
on  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  in  which  the  prophet 
foretells,  in  such  glowing  colors,  the  renewed  glories  of  Israel. 
Then,  having  accomplished  all  the  objects  of  his  halt  at  Perth, 
he  continued  his  march  on  the  capital. 

Fresh  reinforcements  continued  to  join  him  at  every  step. 
At  Dumblane  he  was  met  by  the  MacDonalds  of  Glencoe, 
and  by  the  MacGregors,  still  true  to  the  faith  of  Rob  Roy, 
whose  own  son  was  serving  among  the  levies  of  the  Duke  of 
Perth,  at  the  head  of  his  father's  band.  At  Doune,  the  ladies 
of  Cambras  were  assembled  before  their  houses  with  white 
ribbons  as  decorations  for  the  soldiers,  and  with  refreshments 
for  the  prince,  who,  unwilling  to  delay  his  march,  could  only 
quaff  a  wine-cup  to  their  health,  without  dismounting.  Some 
asked  to  kiss  his  hand,  and  one  fair  damsel,  bolder  or  more 
enthusiastic  than  her  companions,  begged  the  honor  of  a  kiss 
on  her  lips,  which  was  gallantly  given  and  promptly  returned. 
Eight  miles  above  Stirling  is  the  ford  of  Grew,  where  some 
opposition  was  to  be  expected  from  Cope's  dragoons.  But 
when  the  army  reached  it,  the  banks  were  clear,  and  Charles 
Edward,  brandishing  his  naked  sword,  spurred  his  horse  into 
the  stream  and  was  the  first  to  reach  the  shore.  Stirling 
opened  its  gates  without  resistance,  the  garrison  taking  refuge 
in  the  castle.  His  march  now  led  him  over  the  field  of  Ban- 
nockburn,  a  name  so  stirring  to  Scottish  hearts,  and  Falkirk, 
where  base  jealousies  and  treachery,  their  never  failing  at- 
tendant, had  checked  in^  mid  bloom  the  bright  career  of  Wal- 
lace.    The  castle  of  Linlithgow,  so  dear  to  the  chivalrous 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  371 

James  the  Fourth  and  to  the  unfortunate  Mary,  was  again 
thrown  open,  with  flourish  of  trumpets  and  waving  of  banners, 
to  a  descendant  of  the  Stuarts ;  and  at  length,  on  the  17th, 
from  the  heights  of  Corstorphine,  he  caught  his  first  view  of 
Edinburgh. 

Meanwhile,  the  royal  city  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and  dis- 
may ;  for  of  all  its  old  fortifications  the  castle  alone  was  tena- 
ble, and  the  army  on  which  it  had  relied  for  defence  was  still 
at  a  distance.  A  few  corps  of  volunteers  had  been  hastily 
raised,  in  the  urgency  of  the  moment,  and  there  were  still 
two  companies  of  Cope's  dragoons,  which  he  had  left  behind 
him  on  his  march  into  the  Highlands.  But  the  danger  from 
within  was  no  less  imminent  than  that  from  without ;  for  the 
Jacobites  formed  a  large  proportion  of  the  population,  and 
hatred  to  the  Union  would  probably  range  many  of  the  Whigs 
on  the  same  side.  The  lord  provost  and  counsellors  them- 
selves were  well  known  to  favor  the  prince  in  their  hearts ; 
and  although  they  continued  to  perform  all  their  functions 
with  a  strict  regard  to  their  oath  of  office,  it  was  difficult  to 
believe  that  they  would  neglect  so  favorable  an  opportunity 
of  aiding  a  cause  to  which  they  were  so  warmly  attached. 
"When  the  news  of  Charles  Edward's  landing  first  came,  his 
enterprise  had  seemed  so  rash  that  no  one  ever  dreamed  of 
anything  like  a  serious  contest.  His  followers  were  said  to 
be  a  few  wild  Highlanders  and  men  of  desperate  fortunes, 
whom  the  riot  act  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  disperse.  Thus 
every  apprehension  was  lulled,  and  men  continued  their  usual 
avocations  with  little  or  no  interruption.  Every  other  ques- 
tion was  absorbed  in  the  approaching  elections.     But  when  it 


372  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

was  known  that  Sir  John  Cope  had  commenced  a  retreat,  that 
the  prince  was  in  full  march  for  the  capital,  and  that  the 
country  was  rising  on  all  sides  to  his  support,  men  began  to 
look  upon  his  undertaking  in  a  more  serious  light ;  the  Jacob- 
ites, with  hopes  which  they  could  but  imperfectly  conceal,  and 
the  Hanoverians,  with  a  dejection  proportioned  to  their  for- 
mer confidence.  Everything  now  wore  the  aspect  of  a  sur- 
prise; sudden  alarms,  exaggerated  reports,  hope  and  fear 
prevailing  by  turns,  each  transition  equally  sudden  and  equally 
extreme ;  counsels  uncertain,  and  varying  with  every  new 
tale ;  the  ill-disguised  exultation  of  anticipated  triumph  and 
party  hate,  the  more  bitter  from  having  been  so  long  sup- 
pressed ;  and  that  indefinable  agitation  with  which  men  look 
forward  to  some  great  event,  from  which  they  know  not 
whether  they  have  most  to  hope  or  to  fear. 

In  the  midst  of  this  uncertainty  came  a  letter  from  the 
prince  to  the  lord  provost  and  council,  summoning  them  to 
throw  open  their  gates  without  delay,  and  receive  the  repre- 
sentative of  their  sovereign  with  the  submission  which  they 
owed  him.  A  deputation  was  sent  to  negotiate,  which  soon 
returned  with  a  letter  signed  John  Murray,  saying  that  the 
prince's  manifesto  was  a  sufficient  guaranty  for  the  citizens, 
and  calling  upon  them  to  open  their  gates  without  further  de- 
lay. This  had  hardly  been  read,  when  a  despatch  from  Sir 
John  Cope  was  brought  in,  announcing  his  speedy  arrival  with 
all  his  forces.  This  was  a  last  ray  of  hope  for  the  Hanoveri- 
ans, and  some  few  again  ventured  to  talk  of  resistance.  At 
length,  it  was  resolved  to  send  another  deputation  to  the 
prince,  and  thus  contrive  to  gain  time,  the  favorite  resource 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  373 

of  men  who  are  at  a  loss  what  to  decide.  But  Charles  Ed- 
ward, refusing  to  receive  them,  sent  forward  a  body  of  seven 
or  eight  hundred  men,  with  orders  to  find  or  force  an  en- 
trance. They  arrived  just  as  a  gate  was  opening  to  let  out 
the  carriage  of  the  deputation  on  its  way  back  to  the  stables, 
and  some  of  them,  springing  forward,  forced  their  way  into 
the  streets.  Their  companions  quickly  followed,  and  when, 
next  morning,  the  citizens  awoke  from  their  slumbers,  Edin- 
burgh was  in  the  hands  of  the  Highlanders. 

The  joyful  intelligence  was  quickly  carried  to  the  prince's 
head-quarters,  at  the  little  village  of  Slateford,  where,  curbing 
his  impatience  as  best  he  might,  he  had  thrown  himself  upon 
his  bed  in  his  clothes,  and  had  barely  slept  two  hours  when 
the  messenger  arrived.  He  immediately  mounted  his  horse 
and  put  his  army  in  motion.  It  was  still  early  in  the  morn- 
ing as  he  approached  the  city ;  but  the  King's  Park  by  which 
he  was  to  enter,  was  already  filled  with  a  crowd  of  both  sexes 
and  every  age.  From  an  eminence  near  the  Hermitage  of 
St  Anthony,  he  could  see  the  white  banner  of  the  Stuarts 
waving  once  more  from  his  ancestral  towers  of  Holyrood. 
But  the  guns  of  the  castle,  which  was  still  in  the  hands  of  the 
Hanoverians,  commanded  the  usual  entrance,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  throw  down  a  part  of  the  park-wall  for  his  pas- 
sage. The  Duke  of  Perth  had  presented  him  with  a  beauti- 
ful bay  charger  for  the  occasion,  which  he  mounted  on  enter- 
ing the  park.  He  was  still  dressed  in  his  Highland  costume, 
distinguished  only  by  a  scarf  of  azure  and  gold,  and  the  glit- 
tering cross  of  the  national  order  of  St.  Andrew.  His  hair 
fell  in  ringlets  from  under  his  simple  blue  cap,  and  as  he  rode 

32 


374  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

along,  the  youthful  bloom  of  his  countenance,  and  the  mingled 
grace  and  dignity  of  his  manners,  drew  forth  a  burst  of  admi- 
ration from  the  assembled  multitude.  Some  stubborn  old 
Whigs  pretended  to  discover  in  his  smile  a  slight  dash  of 
melancholy,  which  was  of  no  good  augury  for  a  day  of  triumph. 
But  for  far  the  greater  number  it  was  the  smile  and  air  of 
Robert  Bruce,  and  as  they  fed  their  fancies  upon  this  resem- 
blance to  one  so  dear,  they  promised  themselves  that  the 
Bruce's  star,  too,  would  shine  upon  him,  and  that  his  simple 
bonnet  of  blue  would  soon  be  exchanged  for  the  crown  of  the 
three  kingdoms.  At  the  palace-gate  stood  James  Hepburn 
of  Keith,  a  gray-headed  old  man,  well  known  for  his  hostility 
to  the  principles  of  divine  right,  but  who,  seeing  in  the  return 
of  the  Stuarts  the  only  hope  of  obtaining  the  revocation  of  the 
detested  act  of  Union,  now  advanced,  with  his  sword  drawn 
and  a  solemn  air,  to  usher  the  prince  to  his  apartment 

It  was  a  happy  day  for  Charles  Edward.  Thus  far  every- 
thing had  succeeded  even  beyond  his  warmest  hopes ;  and  as 
he  paced  his  paternal  halls  of  Holyrood,  the  cries  of  the  crowd 
below  compelled  him  from  time  to  time  to  show  himself  at  the 
window,  and  he  could  hear  the  distant  shout  from  another 
quarter  of  the  city,  where  the  herald  was  solemnly  proclaim- 
ing the  accession  of  James  the  Eighth.  But  this  very  suc- 
cess imposed  the  necessity  of  a  still  greater  display  of  vigor, 
for  his  strength  consisted  almost  wholly  in  an  excited  feeling, 
which  nothing  but  constant  action  and  fresh  triumphs  could 
keep  alive.  Without  waiting,  therefore,  to  enjoy  the  welcome 
he  was  receiving  at  Edinburgh,  he  advanced  directly  towards 
Sir  John  Cope,  who  was  already  within  a  few  miles  of  the 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  375 

city,  with  an  army  formidable  both  by  numbers  and  disci- 
pline. 

The  English  general  was  just  entering  the  plain  between 
Preston  and  Seaton,  when  two  officers,  whom  he  had  sent  for- 
ward to  select  a  camp  for  the  night,  came  back  at  the  top  of 
their  horses'  speed,  to  announce  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 
He  instantly  halted,  and  ranged  his  troops  in  order  of  battle, 
extending  his  wings  towards  the  sea  on  one  side,  and  the  village 
of  Tranent  on  the  other.  In  a  few  moments  the  enemy  came 
in  sight,  and  each  army  as  they  drew  nigh  to  one  another,  sent 
up  a  shout  of  defiance.  Charles  Edward  had  chosen  a  road 
which  brought  him  out  upon  a  high  ground  on  his  adversary's 
flank,  from  which  his  Highlanders  could  charge  down  with 
their  mountaineer  impetuosity.  This  manoeuvre  compelled 
Cope  to  change  his  order,  resting  his  right  on  Preston  and  his 
left  on  Seaton  house,  with  the  sea  behind  him,  and  in  his  front 
a  morass  defended  by  a  broad,  deep  ditch.  The  position 
seemed  impregnable. 

Meanwhile,  these  manoeuvres  had  drawn  out  the  day,  and 
when  both  armies  came  into  position,  it  was  too  late  for  an 
attack.  Charles  Edward  went  with  the  Duke  of  Perth  and 
another  officer  to  dine  at  a  little  village  inn.  The  hostess 
had  hidden  away  her  pewter  spoons,  for  fear  of  the  High- 
landers, and  had  only  a  couple  of  wooden  ones  to  supply  their 
place  with.  Dividing  these  as  they  could,  they  contrived  to 
drink  the  little  dish  of  mutton-broth  which  was  set  before 
them,  cutting  the  meat  with  a  cleaver,  and  eating  it  with  their 
fingers  instead  of  forks.  The  British  general  was  well  supplied 
with  every  article  of  convenience  and  luxury. 


376  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

Night  set  in  cold  and  foggy.  Through  the  mist  gleamed 
the  fitful  light  of  the  British  watch-fires,  and  from  time  to 
time  a  random  cannon-shot,  breaking  in  upon  the  stillness 
of  the  scene,  served  to  show  that  their  experienced  foe  was 
keeping  good  guard.  The  Highlanders  slept  upon  the  ground, 
in  their  plaids,  the  prince  in  the  midst,  ever  ready  to  share 
in  the  hardships  that  he  imposed.  He  had  hardly  closed 
his  eyes,  when  Lord  George  Murray  came  to  tell  him  of  a 
passage  over  the  morass,  which  had  just  been  pointed  out  by 
the  owner  of  the  ground,  who  at  the  same  time  offered  to 
serve  them  as  a  guide.  The  offer  was  gladly  accepted,  and 
at  three  the  men  were  under  arms,  and,  filing  off  silently, 
began  the  passage  under  favor  of  the  darkness,  which  effec- 
tually concealed  their  movements  until  the  head  of  the  col- 
umn had  reached  the  morass.  Here  they  were  challenged 
by  the  videttes,  who  discharged  their  pieces  and  galloped  off 
to  give  the  alarm.  Charles  Edward  was  the  first  to  spring 
upon  the  little  bridge  which  led  across  the  ditch,  and  the  head 
of  the  column,  turning  towards  the  sea,  gave  room  for  the 
rest  to  pass  without  breaking  their  ranks.  The  moment  that 
all  were  over,  a  half-wheel  to  the  left  brought  them  into  line, 
and  the  whole  army  pressed  forward  in  battle  order.  On  the 
right  was  the  Duke  of  Perth,  at  the  head  of  the  MacDonalds, 
who  claimed  this  as  the  post  which  Bruce  himself  had  as- 
signed them  on  the  field  of  Bannockburn.  The  Camerons 
and  Appin  Stuarts  formed  the  left  wing,  under  Lord  George 
Murray ;  and  in  the  centre  were  the  MacGregors,  with  the 
levies  of  the  Duke  of  Perth.  The  second  line  was  com- 
posed of  the  Athols  and  Eobertsons  on  the  right,  and  the 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  377 

MacLachlans  and  MacDonalds  of  Glencoe  on  the  left.  The 
prince  placed  himself,  with  a  small  body-guard,  between  the 
two  lines.  An  old  cannon,  too  much  shattered  to  be  loaded 
with  anything  but  powder,  but  which  the  Highlanders  looked 
upon  with  a  sort  of  blind  veneration,  was  their  only  artillery. 
The  English  army,  though  nearly  equal  in  number,  was  drawn 
up  in  a  single  line,  with  the  cavalry  on  the  flanks,  and  six 
pieces  of  artillery  on  the  right. 

Although  the  men  had  been  under  arms  since  three  o'clock, 
it  was  broad  day  when  the  battle  began ;  but  the  mist  was  still 
dense,  and,  swaying  to  and  fro  as  the  sunbeams  broke  through 
it,  served  to  conceal  the  inequalities  of  the  Highland  line. 
As  they  came  within  gun-shot,  they  discharged  their  firelocks, 
and,  shouting  their  war-cry,  rushed  forward,  with  drawn 
claymores,  upon  the  enemy's  ranks.  Each  man  held  a  naked 
dirk  in  his  left  hand,  and  on  his  arm  a  little  target  of  bull's 
hide  bound  together  with  brass  studs.  The  English  pre- 
sented their  bayonets,  and  stood  firm  to  receive  the  shock. 
But  the  hardy  mountaineers,  stooping  on  one  knee,  struck  up 
the  bayonets  with  their  targets,  pierced  their  enemies  from 
below  with  their  swords,  and  throwing  the  dead  bodies  upon 
the  second  line,  pressed  on  in  their  headlong  career.  Two 
balls  pierced  the  chief  of  the  MacGregors,  as  he  was  advanc- 
ing to  the  charge :  —  "lam  not  dead,  my  children,"  cried  he, 
instantly  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow,  "  I  am  looking  at 
you  to  see  if  you  do  your  duty."  The  Stuarts  and  Camerons 
rushed  upon  the  artillery,  and  mastered  it  in  a  moment.  The 
British  line  wavered ;  the  cavalry  turned  and  fled,  and  in  a 
moment  the  field  was  covered  with  the  flying  and  their  pur- 

32* 


378  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

suers,  and  wounded  and  dead,  and  scattered  arms ;  while  here 
and  there  a  few,  held  at  bay  by  the  nature  of  the  ground,  strove 
to  make  good  their  stand,  or  yielded  themselves  prisoners, 
without  waiting  to  count  their  enemies.  A  large  number  of 
standards,  six  cannon,  a  supply  of  tents,  ammunition,  and  bag- 
gage, and  a  military  chest  of  four  thousand  pounds,  were  the 
immediate  fruit  of  this  victory,  in  which  the  conquerors  lost 
but  thirty  or  forty  men,  and  the  conquered  five  hundred  killed 
and  a  thousand  prisoners. 

Next  day  the  victorious  troops  made  their  triumphal  entry 
into  Edinburgh.  First  came  the  pibroch-players,  a  hundred 
men  in  all,  playing  the  favorite  old  air  of  the  Jacobites, — 

"  The  king  shall  enjoy  his  own  again,"  — 

the  predictions  of  which  seemed  at  last  upon  the  point  of  being 
accomplished.  Then  came  the  clans,  part  in  their  mountain 
garb,  and  part  decked  out  in  the  uniforms  and  ornaments 
which  they  had  won  from  the  English.  Some  bore  aloft  their 
own  victorious  banners,  others  those  of  the  enemy;  and  a 
few,  in  the  wildness  of  their  exultation,  fired  their  guns  in  the 
air.  A  ball  from  one  of  these  grazed  the  forehead  of  Miss 
Nairn,  as  she  stood  waving  her  handkerchief  from  a  balcony. 
"  Thank  Heaven,"  cried  she,  "  that  it  did  not  strike  a  Whig ! 
for  what  would  they  not  have  said  against  these  brave  de- 
fenders of  the  good  cause  ?  "  The  prisoners,  a  train  almost 
as  numerous  as  the  army  itself,  marched  next,  and  the  bag- 
gage and  cannon  of  Sir  John  Cope  closed  the  procession. 
Everywhere,  as  they  passed  along,  the  streets  and  squares 
were  crowded  with  spectators ;  there  was  waving  of  handker- 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  379 

chiefs  from  every  balcony  and  window,  and  a  mingling  of 
shouts  and  benedictions,  as  though  one  wish  and  one  feeling 
had  animated  the  whole  population. 

In  this  scene  of  triumph  and  exultation  Charles  Edward 
took  no  part ;  but,  entering  Edinburgh  quietly  in  the  evening, 
returned  without  pomp  or  parade  to  his  apartments  at  Holy- 
rood.  His  thoughts  were  already  running  forward  to  London, 
the  next  great  point  in  his  progress,  and  the  first  question 
that  he  brought  before  his  council  was  how  to  make  the  most 
of  his  victory.  His  own  wish  was  to  enter  England  without 
delay,  and  push  directly  forward  for  the  capital,  while  the 
impression  produced  by  his  victory  was  still  fresh  in  the  minds 
of  his  enemies,  as  well  as  of  his  friends.  The  king  was  still 
absent,  the  troops  scattered,  the  cabinet  taken  by  surprise, 
the  Whigs  disheartened  and  dismayed ;  his  adherents  full  of 
hope,  and  ready  to  spring  to  arms  at  the  first  waving  of  his 
banner. 

But  these  were  far  from  being  the  views  of  his  council. 
"  A  march  into  England,"  said  some,  "  is  a  serious  enterprize, 
and  demands  mature  consideration.  The  country  is  thickly 
peopled,  and  the  parties  nicely  balanced.  You  have  friends 
there,  it  is  true ;  but  they  are  so  closely  watched,  that  you 
cannot  count  upon  them.  The  king  is  absent,  but  the  cabi- 
net is  on  its  guard,  with  all  the  means  and  resources  of  an 
established  government  at  its  command.  The  troops  are  scat- 
tered, but  they  are  gathering  rapidly,  and  the  ministry  are 
levying  new  forces.  Meanwhile,  you  have  rivers  to  cross,  and 
fortified  towns  to  pass  through,  and  supplies  and  provisions 
to  collect  on  your  march  from  men  whom  you  dare  not  irri- 


380  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

tate  by  your  exactions,  although  you  can  seldom  hope  to  win 
them  by  your  forbearance.  And  what  are  your  means  for  so 
great  an  enterprize  ?  An  army  flushed  indeed  by  victory, 
but  which  that  very  victory  has  reduced  to  a  bare  third  of  its 
original  number ;  for  a  battle,  as  you  well  know,  is  for  your 
Highlanders  the  signal  of  temporary  desertion ;  if  conquered, 
to  seek  a  refuge,  —  if  victorious,  to  secrete  their  plunder  and 
enjoy  their  triumph.  Soon  they  will  all  be  back  again,  and 
many  more  with  them,  whom  the  sound  of  victory  and  the 
sight  of  spoil  will  draw  forth,  thus  swelling  your  ranks  and 
keeping  alive  that  spirit  of  enthusiasm  which  stands  them  in 
the  place  of  discipline.  Await,  then,  their  return ;  hasten  the 
long-promised  succors  of  France;  establish  yourself  more 
firmly  in  Scotland ;  and  then,  with  all  the  resources  of  one 
kingdom  at  your  command,  you  can  march  with  confidence 
and  security  to  the  conquest  of  another." 

Some  went  still  further.  According  to  them,  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  Stuarts  had  begun  with  their  claims  to  the  throne 
of  England.  It  was  this  that  had  brought  the  lovely  Mary 
to  the  scaffold,  and  Charles  had  atoned  by  the  same  bloody 
penalty  for  an  elevation  so  fatal  to  his  race.  "  Think,  then, 
of  Scotland,  the  birthplace  of  your  fathers,  the  true  source  of 
their  greatness,  the  only  spot  where  their  names  are  hallowed 
by  bright  and  enduring  associations.  Make  this  the  founda- 
tion of  your  strength,  the  starting-point  of  your  new  career. 
Repeal  that  detested  Union,  by  which  her  pure  fame  has  been 
degraded  and  the  blood  of  her  children  made  the  spoil  of  a 
foreign  tyrant.  Redeem  her  from  this  abasement ;  restore  her 
to  her  former  glory  and  her  inalienable  rights ;  atone  for  the 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  381 

humiliation  which  the  ill-judged  policy,  the  fatal  ambition  of 
your  fathers,  have  brought  upon  her ;  and  what  may  you  not 
hope  from  the  self-devotion  of  gratitude,  and  the  irresistible 
energy  of  independence  ?  " 

Thus  compelled  to  remain  in  Scotland  in  opposition  to  his 
judgment  and  his  wishes,  Charles  Edward  resolved  to  make 
the  most  of  this  inauspicious  delay  for  increasing  his  forces 
and  organizing  his  government.  He  issued  proclamations  of 
amnesty  and  entire  oblivion  for  all  political  offences.  He  sent 
circulars  to  all  the  local  authorities,  calling  upon  them  to  send 
in  their  reports  and  bring  their  contributions  to  Edinburgh. 
He  despatched  glowing  accounts  of  his  success  to  the  court 
of  France,  urging  the  necessity  of  immediate  cooperation  in 
order  to  complete  the  work  which  had  been  so  successfully 
begun.  He  renewed  his  applications  to  the  chiefs  who  had 
not  yet  declared  themselves,  assuring  them  that  they  would 
be  received  as  cordially  as  if  they  had  joined  him  at  the  first 
moment ;  and  he  sent  chosen  emissaries  into  England  to  con- 
sult with  his  partisans  there,  and  prepare  the  way  for  his 
invasion  of  that  kingdom. 

Meantime,  his  little  army  was  encamped  at  Duddingstone, 
about  two  miles  from  Edinburgh,  where,  except  that  there 
was  less  of  hardship  in  it,  they  led  nearly  the  same  lives  as 
at  their  homes  among  the  mountains.  The  tents  of  Cope's 
army  had  been  pitched  for  their  use,  but  it  was  long  before 
they  could  accustom  themselves  to  the  restraint,  breathing 
freer  in  the  open  air,  and  loving  to  sit  round  their  watch- 
fires  and  listen  to  the  songs  of  their  bards.  Every  day  the 
prince  came  to  visit  them,  and  make  his  rounds  in  person ; 


CHARLES   EDWARD. 

and  wherever  he  saw  a  group  collected,  he  would  join  in 
their  conversation  with  a  familiarity  which  went  directly  to 
their  hearts,  for  it  seemed  to  flow  from  his  own ;  and  he  was 
always  ready  with  some  of  those  happy  sayings  which  take 
such  strong  hold  of  the  popular  mind.  Or  if  it  chanced  that 
some  old  bard  was  singing  the  glories  of  his  clan,  he  would 
stop  to  listen  and  applaud,  showing  all  the  while,  by  his  ani- 
mated gestures  and  excited  countenance,  how  deeply  his  ima- 
gination was  struck  by  these  wild  old  traditions  of  other  days. 
Sometimes,  instead  of  returning  to  town,  he  would  pass  the 
night  in  camp. 

At  Holyrood  every  thing  wore  the  aspect  of  a  splendid 
court,  and  the  old  halls,  so  long  condemned  to  solitude,  now 
rang  once  more  with  the  sounds  of  festivity  and  triumph. 
Every  morning  a  crowd  of  courtiers  thronged  the  prince's 
levee,  and  the  moment  that  this  formality  of  royal  life  was 
over,  he  took  his  seat  at  the  council-board.  Then  came  the 
public  dinner  and  the  visit  of  his  posts ;  and  in  the  evening 
balls  and  receptions,  where  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
Jacobites  displayed  their  richest  attire,  and  oftentimes,  won 
by  his  grace  and  affability,  would  send  next  morning  to  pledge 
the  jewels  he  had  praised,  in  order  to  raise  contributions  for 
the  good  cause.  New  levies,  too,  were  coming  in  from  the 
mountains;  new  chiefs  declaring  their  adherence  and  enrolling 
their  vassals ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  cautious  policy  of  the 
Lowlands,  a  few  small  bands  of  volunteers  were  raised  in  the 
cities.  But  the  most  important  event  of  all  was  the  arrival 
of  the  Marquis  d'Equilles  as  Ambassador  from  France,  with 
letters  from  the  king,  and  a  small  supply  of  arms  and  ammu- 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  383 

nition ;  and  although  he  was  not  yet  authorized  to  announce 
his  mission  openly,  yet  the  presence  of  a  Frenchman  of  rank, 
and  the  assurance  that  he  would  soon  be  followed  by  others 
with  money  and  supplies,  seemed  a  sufficient  proof  that  the 
court  of  Versailles  was  at  last  beginning  to  open  its  eyes  to  its 
true  interest,  and  would  not  long  delay  those  more  extensive 
succors,  with  the  aid  of  which  it  would  be  so  easy  to  decide 
the  contest. 

Feeble  as  these  supplies  were,  Charles  Edward  resolved 
to  put  off  his  march  into  England  no  longer.  Meeting  the 
opposition  of  his  council  with  the  letters  of  his  English  adhe- 
rents, who  complained  of  being  thus  left  a  defenceless  prey  to 
the  Hanoverians,  he  announced  his  fixed  determination  of 
entering  England  immediately,  even  at  the  risk  of  doing  it 
alone.  "  I  will  raise  my  banner  there,"  said  he,  "  as  I  did  in 
Scotland ;  the  faithful  subjects  of  my  father  will  gather  round 
it,  and  with  them  I  will  either  conquer  or  perish."  The 
council  yielded,  and  orders  were  issued  for  the  march.  By 
the  troops  the  tidings  were  received  with  enthusiasm,  for  they 
were  tired  of  the  monotonous  inaction  of  a  camp,  and  longed 
once  more  for  the  excitement  of  marches  and  battles.  In  a 
general  review  of  all  the  forces,  they  were  found  to  amount  to 
little  more  than  seven  thousand  men ;  but  Scotland  had  been 
won  with  but  half  this  number,  destitute  both  of  horse  and  ar- 
tillery, and  now  they  were  supported  by  five  hundred  cavalry, 
they  had  seven  cannon  and  four  mortars,  and,  what  was  of 
far  more  account  than  all  this,  were  glowing  with  enthusiasm 
and  flushed  by  success. 

Meanwhile,  the  interval  had  been  employed  by  the  English 


384  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

government  in  active  preparations  for  defence.  The  king 
had  arrived  from  the  continent  and  rallied  his  adherents 
around  him.  A  strong  division  had  been  sent  forward  on  the 
road  to  Newcastle  under  field-marshal  Wade;  another,  under 
General  Ligonnier,  had  directed  its  march  towards  Lancaster, 
in  order  to  cover  the  western  frontier ;  while  camps  of  reserve 
were  forming  at  Finehley,  and  other  points  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  capital.  The  only  road  to  London  lay  between  the  armies 
of  Ligonnier  and  Wade. 

Charles  Edward,  with  the  boldness  which  had  characterized 
all  his  measures,  was  for  marching  directly  upon  Newcastle, 
and  fighting  Wade  on  his  way.  But  in  this  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  overruled  by  his  council,  who  preferred  entering 
England  by  Carlisle,  where  the  nature  of  the  country  would 
be  more  favorable  to  the  tactics  of  the  mountaineers.  It  was 
on  a  Thursday,  the  31st  of  October,  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  that  the  gallant  young  prince  left  his  ancestral  halls 
of  Holyrood,  which  were  never  more  to  be  trodden  by  the 
foot  of  a  Stuart.  That  night  he  slept  at  Pinkie  house,  and 
next  morning  began  his  march.  The  more  effectually  to 
conceal  his  course,  he  had  ordered  lodgings  to  be  taken  all 
along  the  route  to  Berwick ;  and,  dividing  his  troops,  di- 
rected one  detachment  on  Peebles,  under  the  Marquis  of 
Tullibardine,  and  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  other, 
pressed  forward  towards  Kelso,  while  a  few  small  bodies 
took  an  intermediate  road  by  Selkirk  and  Moss-paul.  Red- 
ding, in  Cumberland,  was  fixed  upon  as  the  general  ren- 
dezvous. 

Here,  as  on  his  advance  through  the  Highlands,  he  march- 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  385 

ed  on  foot  at  the  head  of  his  column,  lightening  the  fatigue 
of  the  way  by  many  a  jest  and  merry  saying,  —  the  surest 
test,  in  the  soldier's  judgment,  of  his  affection  for  those  who 
were  giving  so  strong  a  proof  of  their  devotion  to  him.  From 
Kelso,  his  route  lay  directly  across  the  Tweed,  and  along 
the  banks  of  the  Liddel,*  so  often  stained  with  blood  in  the 
wild  wars  of  the  border.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  clans  was 
at  its  height  as  they  touched  the  English  shore.  They 
brandished  their  claymores,  tossed  their  caps  in  the  air,, 
and  uttered  that  shrill  war-cry  which  seems  like  an  invoca- 
tion to  the  powers  of  havoc  and  blood.  But  Lochiel,  in 
drawing  his  sword,  wounded  himself  in  the  hand,  and  the 
evil  omen  instantly  spread  a  superstitious  dread  through 
the  ranks. 

Crossing  one  more  watercourse,  the  little  streamlet  of  Esk, 
they  halted  at  Redding,  where  they  were  soon  after  joined  by 
the  rest  of  the  army.  Charles  now  concentrated  his  forces, 
and  advanced  to  lay  siege  to  Carlisle.  This  city  had  once 
been  classed  among  the  strong  posts  of  the  kingdom,  for  it 
was  the  capital  of  the  county,  and  exposed  by  its  situation  to 
sudden  attacks  from  the  Scottish  border.  But  in  the  more 
tranquil  times  which  had  succeeded  the  union  of  the  two 
crowns,  the  greater  part  of  its  defences  had  been  suffered  to 
fall  to  decay.  The  rampart  still  remained  entire,  but  was  in 
no  condition  to  withstand  a  serious  attack,  and  the  only  part 
which  offered  any  chance  of  effectual  resistance  was  the  castle. 

*  The  exquisite  little  Spanish  ballad,  Eio  Verde,  so  beautifully  trans- 
lated by  Longfellow  in  his  Outre  Mer,  might,  with  a  few  changes  of 
name,  be  applied  to  the  Liddel. 

3a 


386  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

The  army  of  Marshal  Wade,  however,  was  within  supporting 
distance ;  and  the  governor,  relying  upon  this,  resolved  to  de- 
fend himself  to  the  last. 

The  moment  Charles  Edward  heard  that  Wade  was 
marching  to  the  relief  of  Carlisle,  he  resolved  to  advance 
at  once  and  offer  him  battle.  Accordingly,  leaving  a  small 
detachment  before  the  town,  he  pressed  forward  with  all  his 
forces  to  Brampton,  on  the  road  to  Newcastle.  There  he 
learned  that  the  English  general  was  still  so  far  off,  that, 
by  a  vigorous  attack,  he  might  hope  to  get  possession  of 
Carlisle  before  the  relieving  army  could  come  up.  The 
detachment  he  had  left  not  being  strong  enough  for  this,  a 
new  one  was  despatched,  under  the  Duke  of  Perth,  to  urge 
on  the  siege,  while  the  main  body  remained  at  Brampton  to 
watch  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  The  trench  was  im- 
mediately opened,  the  Duke  of  Perth  and  Marquis  of  Tulli- 
bardine  working,  as  they  had  fought,  at  the  head  of  their 
men ;  the  batteries  were  planted  within  eighty-five  yards  of 
the  parapet,  in  spite  of  the  fire  of  the  garrison,  which  was 
heavy  and  well  sustained,  and  fascines  and  ladders  prepared 
for  an  assault.  The  governor  now  began  to  despair  of 
making  good  his  defence,  and  on  receiving  a  second  summons, 
hung  out  a  white  flag  and  offered  to  capitulate.  Charles  Ed- 
ward came  in  person  to  receive  the  keys  of  the  city,  and 
Wade,  on  learning  its  surrender,  retraced  his  steps  towards 
Newcastle. 

Two  plans  of  action  now  presented  themselves  to  the  inva- 
ders ;  either  to  attack  the  enemy  at  Newcastle,  or  to  march 
directly  upon  London.     The  former,  could  they  have  counted 


CHARLES  EDWARD. 


387 


upon  meeting  Wade  in  the  field,  would  have  been  the  wiser 
course ;  for  in  case  of  defeat,  the  frontier  of  Scotland  was 
close  at  hand  to  retire  upon,  and  a  victory  in  England  could 
hardly  have  failed  to  produce  an  immediate  declaration  of 
the  Jacobites.  But  if,  in  adherence  to  the  cautious  policy 
which  he  had  hitherto  pursued,  the  English  general  should 
shut  himself  up  in  Newcastle,  and  protract  his  defence  till 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  who  had  taken  the  place  of  Ligon- 
nier,  could  come  to  his  relief,  the  prince  would  find  himself 
hemmed  in  between  two  armies,  either  of  which  was  singly 
his  superior  in  number,  in  equipments,  and  in  discipline.  It 
was  resolved,  therefore,  to  march  upon  London,  where  there 
were  strong  reasons  for  believing  that  his  partisans  were  suf- 
ficiently numerous  to  secure  him  a  hearty  reception.  A  por- 
tion of  the  Highlanders  had  deserted,  but  their  places  would 
soon  be  supplied  by  the  English  Jacobites,  who  would  join 
him  on  his  route,  and  his  rear  would  be  covered  by  the  army 
of  reserve,  which  had  received  orders  to  enter  England  with- 
out delay. 

It  was  a  bold  game  to  play  in  the  face  of  so  experienced  a 
general  as  the  Duke  of  Cumberland.  All  along  the  road  the 
bridges  had  been  broken  down,  and  all  the  usual  means  em- 
ployed for  throwing  obstacles  in  his  way.  And  in  his  own 
army  there  were  many  who,  condemning  the  measure  as  need- 
lessly hazardous,  refused  to  give  it  that  hearty  cooperation 
which  alone  could  insure  its  success.  But  here,  as  throughout 
the  whole  of  his  enterprize,  Charles  Edward  felt  that  the 
boldest  measures  were  the  wisest. 

A  small  garrison  was  placed  in  Carlisle,  and,  on  the  21st 


388  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

of  November,  the  army  was  again  put  in  motion,  with  the 
cavalry  in  advance.  In  Lancashire  they  were  everywhere 
received  with  illuminations  and  ringing  of  bells ;  for  here  the 
Jacobites  were  far  the  greater  number.  Many  a  melancholy 
thought,  and,  perhaps,  too,  some  sad  forebodings  were  awaken- 
ed at  the  sight  of  Preston,  where,  but  thirty  years  before, 
some  of  the  noblest  chiefs  of  the  Highlands  had,  by  the 
treachery  of  one  of  their  companions,  fallen  victims  to  their 
devotion  to  the  exiled  family.  The  event  was  still  fresh  in 
the  minds  of  all,  and  the  more  so,  from  having  been  recorded 
in  some  of  those  touching  little  ballads,  which  perform  one  of 
the  highest  offices  of  poetry  so  beautifully,  by  preserving  the 
memory  of  noble  actions  in  the  simple  langauge  of  the  heart. 
At  Manchester,  the  prince  divided  his  army  into  two  columns, 
in  order  to  advance  more  rapidly.  His  ranks  were  gradu- 
ally filling  up.  Manchester  and  Preston  had  furnished  six 
hundred  recruits.  A  still  more  touching  instance  of  devotion 
awaited  him  at  Stockport.  It  was  from  an  old  lady  by  the 
name  of  Skyring  that  it  came.  When  an  infant  in  her 
mother's  arms,  she  had  been  carried  to  see  the  landing  of 
Charles  the  Second,  and  from  that  day  loyalty  became  her 
worship.  During  the  long  exile  of  the  Stuarts,  she  had  every 
year  set  apart  a  portion  of  her  income  as  a  tribute  to  her 
rightful  sovereign,  carefully  concealing  from  whom  it  came, 
lest  her  name  should  awaken  unpleasant  recollections  of  the 
ingratitude  with  which  the  services  and  sacrifices  of  her  father 
had  been  repaid.  And  now  that  the  last  of  this  cherished 
race  was  come  to  claim  his  rights,  old  and  infirm  as  she  was, 
she  sold  her  jewels  and  her  plate,  in  order  to  raise  a  small 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  389 

sum  for  his  aid,  and  brought  it  to  him  in  a  purse,  and  laid  it 
at  his  feet ;  "  And  now,"  said  she,  "  let  me  die,  for  mine  eyes 
have  beheld  him." 

At  Macclesfield  the  two  columns  met  again.  The  advanced 
posts  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  were  at  Newcastle  under 
Lyne,  in  Staffordshire,  near  enough  to  cut  them  off  from  the 
road  to  London.  To  prevent  this,  and  deceive  the  enemy,  a 
party  of  thirty  horse  was  sent  forward  on  the  Newcastle  road, 
as  if  the  whole  army  were  marching  in  that  direction.  Cum- 
berland fell  into  the  snare,  and  prepared  himself  for  battle. 
Meanwhile,  the  prince  was  pressing  forward  in  two  columns, 
by  Congleton  and  Gasworth,  to  Derby,  which  he  entered  in 
triumph  on  the  4th  of  December.  The  road  was  now  open, 
and  London  but  forty  leagues  distant. 

Charles  Edward  had  hardly  entered  his  quarters,  when  a 
courier  from  Scotland  brought  him  the  welcome  intelligence 
of  the  arrival  of  Lord  Drummond  at  Montrose,  with  his  own 
regiment,  the  royal  Scotch,  two  squadrons  of  cavalry,  and  the 
pickets  of  the  Irish  brigade  of  Count  Lally,  whose  tragic 
death,*  after  years  of  brilliant  service,  has  left  so  deep  a  stain 
upon  the  name  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  There  came,  at  the 
same  time,  letters  from  his  adherents  in  Wales,  full  of  hope 
and  promise ;  and  from  Newcastle,  though  garrisoned  by  the 
enemy ;  and  some,  too,  from  London,  which,  though  less  de- 

*  The  filial  piety  of  Lally  Tollendal  was  a  noble  example  for  the 
Prince  of  Moskowa.  But  the  son  of  Marshal  Ney  still  retains  his  seat 
in  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  while  the  ashes  of  his  father  lie  undistinguished 
in  their  humble  sepulchre,  without  any  other  record  than  the  simple 
offerings  with  which  individual  gratitude  piously  labors  to  atone  for  the 
wanton  violation  of  public  justice. 

33* 


390  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

cided,  still  gave  a  flattering  picture  of  his  prospects.  He  in- 
stantly summoned  his  council,  and  laid  his  despatches  before 
them,  trusting  that  they,  too,  would  catch  new  vigor  from  the 
cheering  tidings. 

Such,  however,  was  far  from  being  their  feeling.  They 
had  looked  around  them,  and  found  themselves  alone,  in  the 
heart  of  a  country,  which,  if  not  hostile,  was  at  least  indiffer- 
ent, and  which  the  slightest  reverse  might  raise  up  against 
them.  They  had  been  weighing  all  the  chances  of  victory 
and  all  the  hazards  of  defeat,  and  counting  one  by  one  the 
obstacles  in  their  way,  till  their  hearts  sank  within  them ;  and 
of  all  their  former  confidence,  the  only  hope  that  remained 
was  of  safety  and  retreat. 

When  the  prince  laid  his  despatches  before  them,  they  lis- 
tened in  silence,  and  with  the  constrained  air  of  men  who 
have  some  unwelcome  thing  to  say,  which  they  know  not  how 
to  bring  out.  At  last  Lord  George  Murray  arose,  and,  in  a 
set  speech,  drew  a  dark  picture  of  their  position,  the  state  of 
the  country,  the  wavering  and  unsatisfactory  conduct  of  the 
English  Jacobites,  the  difficulties  that  beset  them  on  every 
side,  and  which  seemed  to  increase  with  every  step,  the  rash- 
ness of  persevering  in  an  enterprise  from  which  they  had  so 
much  to  fear  and  so  little  to  hope,  and  concluded  by  insisting 
upon  the  necessity  of  an  immediate  retreat.  All  seemed  to 
mark  their  approbation  by  their  looks  and  gestures.  It  was 
evident  that  the  whole  scene  had  been  concerted.  The  Duke 
of  Perth  alone  stood  aloof,  leaning  his  head  upon  the  mantel- 
piece, and  with  a  dejected  countenance,  which  seemed  to  say 
that  this  was  one  of  those  occasions,  in  which  the  prince's  will 
should  be  the  law  of  his  adherents. 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  391 

Charles  Edward  was  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  for  never 
had  his  hopes  been  higher,  and  never  had  he  been  less  appre- 
hensive of  opposition.  The  ardor  of  his  troops,  who,  boast- 
ing that  they  had  penetrated  farther  into  England  than  their 
fathers  had  ever  done,  were  eager  to  be  led  to  battle ;  the 
promises  of  his  adherents,  who,  from  all  sides,  gave  him  the 
strongest  attestations  of  their  zeal  for  his  cause ;  the  landing 
of  one  part  of  his  reinforcements,  with  the  assurance  that  the 
first  fair  wind  would  bring  the  remainder,  under  the  guidance 
of  his  brother  and  the  Duke  of  Richelieu  ;  —  had  all  inspired 
him  with  such  confidence,  that  he  had  almost  fancied  himself 
at  the  gates  of  Whitehall,  when  he  was  thus  suddenly  sum- 
moned to  retrace  his  steps  towards  Scotland.  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  urged  every  argument,  answered  every  objection,  — 
that  he  addressed  himself  to  the  personal  feelings,  the  pride, 
the  love  of  glory,  the  professions  of  loyalty  of  the  chiefs,  and 
with  tears  of  indignation  and  rage,  declared  that  he  had  rather 
be  buried  twenty  feet  under  ground  than  give  his  consent  to 
a  measure  so  fatal.  The  resolve  of  the  council  had  been 
taken,  and  he  was  compelled  to  yield. 

The  retreat  began  before  daybreak,  and  for  a  while  the 
troops  marched  cheerfully  on,  in  the  confidence  that  three 
days  more  would  bring  them  to  London.  But  as  day  began 
to  dawn,  and  they  began  to  recognize  by  the  way-side  the 
same  houses  and  fields  which  they  had  passed  by  but  two 
days  before,  —  "  What  does  this  mean  ?"  said  one  to  another. 
"  Is  this  the  victory  that  has  been  promised  us  ?  Or  have  we 
been  beaten,  that  we  are  condemned  to  retreat  ?"  And  the 
feeling,  gathering  strength  as  it  spread  from  rank  to  rank,  at 


ftjii7ia 


392  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

length  broke  out  in  one  unanimous  cry  of  indignation,  which 
the  chiefs,  with  all  the  weight  of  their  hereditary  authority, 
could  scarcely  suppress.  The  prince  came  in  the  rear,  silent, 
dejected,  heedless  of  what  was  said  or  done  around  him.  The 
hour  of  hope  was  past,  and  the  fate  of  the  Stuarts  was  sealed 
forever. 

Two  days  passed  before  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  became 
fully  aware  of  the  enemy's  intentions ;  and  then,  mounting  a 
part  of  his  foot  behind  the  cavalry,  and  despatching  orders  to 
Marshal  Wade  to  cut  them  off  from  the  road  to  Scotland,  he 
pressed  forward  in  pursuit.  But  with  the  double  advantage 
of  a  two  day's  start  and  the  habitual  rapidity  of  their  move- 
ments, the  Highlanders  were  already  too  far  in  advance  to  be 
overtaken.  Wade  continued  to  move  with  his  usual  hesita- 
tion, and  when  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  joined  him,  the  main 
body  of  the  retreating  army  was  already  well  on  its  way  to- 
wards Carlisle.  The  rear-guard,  under  Lord  Murray,  which 
had  remained  a  little  behind  in  order  to  repair  some  of  the 
baggage-waggons,  was  the  only  portion  which  came  in  contact 
with  the  English,  whom  they  defeated  in  the  brilliant  combat 
of  Clifton  enclosures,  where  Murray  manoeuvred  with  so 
much  skill  as  to  give  his  little  army  the  appearance  of  double 
its  number,  and  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  but  for  a  pistol's 
missing  fire,  would  have  been  killed  on  the  field. 

On  the  31st  of  December,  the  anniversary  of  the  prince's 
birthday,  the  atmy  reentered  Scotland.  During  the  last  few 
days  it  had  been  raining  without  intermission,  and  the  worn 
tartans,  the  bare  feet,  and  long  beards  of  the  men,  showed 
what  hard  service  they  had  been  performing.     This  evil, 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  393 

however,  was  easily  repaired  by  a  contribution  of  the  city  of 
Glasgow7,  which,  having  all  along  been  distinguished  by  its 
hostility,  could  with  more  justice  be  singled  out  as  a  fit  sub- 
ject for  punishment. 

But  not  so  with  the  injurious  impressions  produced  by  the 
retreat,  which,  as  Charles  Edward  had  clearly  foretold,  was 
everywhere  interpreted  as  a  confession  of  inferiority.  The 
Hanoverian  magistrates  had  resumed  their  functions;  the 
English  troops  were  returning  into  the  kingdom ;  the  parti- 
zans  of  the  existing  government  were  rising  to  its  support ; 
and  several,  who  had  hitherto  kept  aloof,  in  order  to  judge  by 
the  result,  now  came  forward  and  declared  themselves  against 
the  restoration.  Edinburgh  had  opened  its  gates  to  General 
Hawley,  and  all  the  Lowlands  seemed  upon  the  point  of  being 
reconquered  by  the  House  of  Hanover,  with  as  much  ease 
and  rapidity,  as  they  had  been  won  by  its  opponents.  In 
England,  Carlisle,  the  only  point  which  an  effort  had  been 
made  to  retain,  had  been  compelled  to  surrender  after  a  few 
days  siege,  and  its  garrison  of  three  hundred  men  were  the 
first  upon  that  dark  roll  of  victims,  which  marked  the  bloody 
triumph  of  Cumberland. 

Bitterly  as  he  had  been  disappointed,  Charles  Edward  re- 
solved to  struggle  to  the  last,  and  one  more  gleam  of  hope 
came  to  cheer  him  in  his  sorrow.  Still,  his  confidence  in  his 
adherents  had  been  shaken,  and  we  shall  no  more  find  in  him 
that  buoyancy  of  spirit,  that  frankness  of  heart,  that  freshness 
and  overflowing  of  feeling,  which  enthusiasm  inspires,  until 
bitter  experience  comes  to  check  its  expansion  by  the  proofs 
which  it  brings,  in  far  too  great  abundance,  of  the  selfishness 


394 


CHARLES    EDWARD. 


of  human  motives  and  the  insincerity  of  man's  professions. 
The  army  of  reserve,  which  had  not  yet  moved  from  Perth, 
was  ordered  to  hasten  forward  in  order  to  effect  its  junction 
with  the  main  body,  and  with  his  united  forces,  nine  thousand 
men  in  all,  he  proceeded  to  lay  siege  to  Stirling.  The  town 
surrendered  in  two  days,  and  the  citadel,  built,  like  that  of 
Edinburgh,  upon  a  precipitous  rock,  was  immediately  invested. 

The  loss  of  this  important  post  might  have  produced  an- 
other revulsion  in  public  feeling,  still  wavering  between  the 
two  parties.  To  prevent  so  fatal  an  occurrence,  the  English 
general  resolved  to  advance  and  offer  battle.  Like  Sir  John 
Cope,  he  was  too  fully  convinced  of  the  superiority  of  his 
disciplined  battalions  to  doubt  the  result  for  a  moment ;  and 
accordingly,  without  waiting  for  the  reinforcements  which 
were  hourly  expected,  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  eight 
thousand  men  he  had  at  hand,  and  marched  rapidly  forward 
towards  Stirling.  But  before  he  set  out  upon  his  march,  he 
caused  five  gibbets  to  be  erected  in  one  of  the  principal 
squares  of  Edinburgh,  for  the  more  speedy  punishment  of 
those  of  the  rebels,  who  should  be  unhappy  enough  to  escape 
death  in  the  field. 

Charles  Edward's  spirits  revived  at  the  prospect  of  a  battle. 
He  had  with  him  nine  thousand  men,  a  larger  army  than  he 
had  ever  commanded  before,  and  among  them  were  several 
regiments  on  whose  discipline  and  experience  he  could  fully 
rely.  A  thousand  men  were  left  to  continue  the  siege,  and 
with  the  rest  he  advanced  to  meet  the  enemy.  The  two  ar- 
mies were  thus  nearly  equal  in  number,  the  English  having 
received  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  a  reinforcement  of  a  thousand 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  395 

volunteers.  If,  as  a  whole,  they  were  better  armed,  and 
trained  by  a  more  rigorous  discipline,  their  adversaries  had 
the  advantage  of  a  higher  enthusiasm  and  the  prestige  of  two 
victories.  Hawley  encamped  in  the  plain  of  Falkirk,  a  name 
of  bitter  remembrance  to  the  Scotch,  for  it  was  here  that  the 
first  Edward  had  triumphed  by  treachery  over  the  heroic 
valor  of  Wallace,  and  tradition  still  pointed  out  the  withered 
trunk  of  the  oak  amid  whose  branches  the  unfortunate  chief- 
tain had  sought  shelter  in  his  flight.  But  Bannockburn,  too, 
was  near,  and  at  their  head  was  the  prince  in  whose  gallant 
bearing  and  noble  countenance  they  had  traced,  with  the 
fondest  hopes  the  air  and  the  features  of  a  Bruce. 

The  ground  between  Stirling  and  Falkirk  was  formerly 
covered  by  Torwood  forest,  some  vestiges  of  which  remain  to 
the  present  day.  Throughout  its  whole  extent,  it  is  an  almost 
unbroken  level,  except  about  a  mile  to  the  south-west  of  Fal- 
kirk, where  it  rises  into  an  irregular  platform,  which  com- 
mands the  plain,  and  affords  an  extensive  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  From  this  eminence  the  little  stream  of 
Carron  descends,  winding  its  course  through  the  fields,  to  the 
scene  of  Bruce's  victory.  On  its  banks  you  now  find  a  forge, 
and,  in  place  of  the  wild  heather  which  once  covered  the  pla- 
teau, a  thick-grown  plantation  of  trees ;  but  in  the  names  of 
Battle-field  and  Red-burn,*  tradition  still  preserves  the  mem- 
ory of  the  day  when  fortune  smiled  for  the  last  time  on  the 
arms  of  the  Stuarts. 

So  far  was  General  Hawley  from  dreaming  of  being  at- 

*  Those  who  love  to  compare  traditions  will  remember  the  Sangui- 
neto  of  Thrasymene.    Will  the  name  of  Red-burn  last  as  long  ? 


396  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

tacked,  that  he  had  pitched  his  camp  in  the  plain,  without 
taking  any  measures  to  secure  the  possession  of  the  eminence, 
and  was  enjoying  a  late  breakfast  at  Callander  castle,  to  which 
he  had  been  invited,  with  a  species  of  treacherous  hospitality, 
by  the  countess  of  Kilmarnock,  when  news  was  brought  him 
that  Charles  Edward  had  already  crossed  the  Carron.  Posi- 
tive as  the  report  was,  he  refused  to  credit  it,  and  it  was  only 
upon  the  arrival  of  a  third  messenger,  that  he  could  tear  him- 
self from  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  When  he  reached  his 
camp,  the  troops  were  already  under  arms,  and  a  few  bodies 
of  the  enemy  were  beginning  to  make  their  appearance  on  the 
plateau.  The  plain  was  covered  with  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, flying,  with  whatever  they  could  carry  with  them,  from 
a  spot  which  was  so  soon  to  become  the  scene  of  mortal  strife. 
Some  few,  bolder  than  the  rest,  had  climbed  the  steeple  of  the 
village-church  in  order  to  see  the  fight.  And  to  increase  the 
wildness  of  the  scene,  a  violent  storm  had  arisen,  with  wind 
and  rain,  fit  precursors  of  the  tempest  which  was  so  soon  to 
rage  beneath.  The  wind  blew  from  the  south-west,  driving 
the  rain  full  in  the  faces  of  the  English,  and  the  clouds, 
gathering  fold  upon  fold,  gave  a  double  gloom  to  the  evening 
shadows  which  were  already  approaching. 

Hawley  drew  up  his  men  in  two  lines,  with  the  Glasgow 
volunteers  and  the  clan  of  Campbell  for  a  reserve.  Among 
the  officers  in  the  first  line  was  one  whose  name  was  one  day 
to  become  glorious  in  the  battle-fields  of  the  New  World,  the 
gallant  Wolfe.  The  British  general  had  easily  divined  the 
enemy's  intention  in  taking  possession  of  the  plateau,  and  sent 
forward  a  regiment  of  cavalry  in  order  to  seize  upon  it  before 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  397 

they  could  make  good  their  hold.  But  it  was  too  late.  The 
advantage  of  position  was  already  lost,  and  it  now  remained 
to  be  seen  what  discipline  and  experience  could  do  towards 
atoning  for  the  neglect. 

The  prince's  army  came  out  upon  the  plateau  in  two  col- 
umns, which,  displaying  to  the  right  and  left,  were  quickly 
formed  in  line  of  battle.  On  this  day  the  MacGregors  shared 
with  the  MacDowals  the  post  of  honor  on  the  right.  Lord 
George  Murray  commanded  on  the  right,  and  Lord  Drum- 
mond  on  the  left.  In  the  second  line  were  the  regiments 
which  had  recently  arrived  from  France.  "Lally,"  said 
Charles  Edward,  as  he  rode  along  the  line,  "  those  English 
know  you  ;  they  fought  at  Fontenoy."  "  True,  my  prince," 
replied  the  gallant  veteran  ;  "  but  to  renew  our  acquaintance, 
my  officers  and  I  would  like  to  be  a  little  nearer  to  the  first 
fire." 

Hawley  had  often  boasted  that  a  single  troop  of  horse 
would  be  enough  to  scatter  the  mountaineers ;  but  as  the  day 
was  far  advanced  and  the  tempest  increasing,  he  ordered  his 
whole  cavalry  to  charge  together,  and  the  infantry  to  advance 
to  their  support.  "  Hold  your  fire  till  they  come  within  fair 
gun-shot,"  was  Murray's  order  to  his  line,  and  it  was  strictly 
obeyed.  "  'T  is  certain  death  that  we  are  going  to !"  mur- 
mured the  horsemen,  on  hearing  the  order  to  charge ;  but 
they  spurred  forward  their  horses  and  rushed  to  the  attack. 
The  Highlanders  let  them  come  near  enough  to  make  their 
aim  sure,  and  then,  pouring  in  one  tremendous  volley,  the 
whole  line  was,  in  an  instant,  enveloped  in  a  dense  veil  of 
smoke.     As  the  wind  swept  it  away  the  ground  was  seen  cov- 

34 


398  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

ered  with  horses  and  horsemen,  wounded  and  dead  and  dying 
overthrown  together,  while  the  survivors  were  flying  broken 
and  disordered  at  the  top  of  their  speed.  Only  one  battalion 
dared  to  charge.  It  was  led  by  a  young  officer  by  the  name 
of  Whitney,  who,  as  he  drew  near  the  enemy,  recognized 
in  their  ranks  an  old  friend  of  former  days,  John  Roy  Stew- 
art. "  We  shall  be  with  you  in  an  instant,"  cried  Whitney  to 
his  friend,  as  his  troop  came  thundering  on.  "  You  will  be 
right  welcome,"  was  the  reply ;  and  at  the  same  instant  a  bul- 
let from  the  Scottish  ranks  struck  the  gallant  officer  from  his 
horse.  His  men  rushed  on  to  avenge  his  fall,  and  in  the 
shock  of  the  encounter  overturned  the  first  rank  and  trampled 
down  several  officers  and  men.  But  the  second  rank,  slipping 
under  the  horses'  bellies,  stabbed  them  with  their  dirks,  and 
then  grappled  the  riders  as  they  fell.  The  defeat  of  the 
cavalry  was  complete. 

The  infantry  now  advanced  to  the  charge,  and  Murray 
again  called  to  his  men  to  let  the  enemy  come  close  up  before 
they  fired.  But  the  blood  of  the  mountaineers  was  already 
warmed  by  the  contest,  and  the  MacDowals,  springing  for- 
ward and  loading  their  pieces  as  they  ran,  threw  in  a  close 
fire,  which  broke  the  English  ranks  almost  before  they  had 
time  to  return  it.  A  few  only  ventured  to  make  a  stand  in  a 
ravine  on  the  right,  where  a  small  body  of  Cobham's  dragoons 
rallied  behind  them,  and  sustained  the  combat  a  few  moments 
longer.  The  MacDowals  hesitated,  and  began  to  fall  back  for 
fear  of  ambuscade.  Charles  Edward,  seeing  their  hesitation, 
advanced  to  their  support  at  the  head  of  his  reserve,  and  in  a 
moment  the  whole  English  army  was  driven  from  the  field. 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  399 

"  Where  are  they  ?"  said  the  officers  to  one  another,  as  they 
looked  around  them  for  the  enemy.  "  It  is  a  ruse,"  cried 
Lord  Drummond,  "  in  order  to  draw  us  into  an  ambuscade  ; 
those  are  the  royal  Scots,  who  fought  so  well  at  Fontenoy." 
And  this  it  was  that  saved  the  English  army  from  total  ex- 
termination. Hawley  had  fled  with  the  cavalry ;  but  Gen- 
eral Huske,  profiting  by  the  mistake  of  the  Scotch,  drew  off 
the  remnants  of  his  right  wing  and  dragoons,  which  had  held 
firm  to  the  last,  and  retreated  in  good  order  towards  Edin- 
burgh, leaving  six  hundred  dead  on  the  field,  and  six  hundred 
wounded  and  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  The 
prince's  loss  was  forty  killed  and  eighty  wounded. 

Had  Charles  Edward  now  marched  directly  upon  Edin- 
burgh, it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  he  might  have  easily 
gained  possession  of  the  city,  and  effaced  by  the  splendor  of 
this  double  triumph  the  unfavorable  impressions  which  had 
been  produced  by  his  retreat  from  Derby.  The  hope,  too,  of 
another  battle  and  the  excitement  of  immediate  action  would 
have  retained  his  Highlanders  at  their  post,  and  prevented 
that  general  desertion  with  which  his  victory  threatened  him. 
But  dissensions  had  begun  to  creep  in  among  his  officers,  and 
the  demoralizing  effects  of  retreat  upon  an  army  so  loosely 
organized,  were  apparent  in  all  their  movements.  Instead  of 
following  up  their  success,  and  pressing  upon  the  enemy  be- 
fore he  could  recover  from  his  panic,  the  time  was  lost  in  idle 
recriminations,  and  the  strength  of  the  army  vainly  wasted  in 
the  siege  of  the  castle  of  Stirling,  which,  firm  on  its  rocky 
base,  set  all  their  efforts  at  defiance. 

There  was  another  cause,  too,  for  this  delay ;  and  in  order 


400  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

to  trace  it  to  its  source,  we  must  go  back  to  Italy,  arid  to  the 
year  1719.  In  that  year  had  been  completed  the  negotiations 
for  the  marriage  of  the  Chevalier  of  St.  George  with  the 
Princess  Mary  Casimir  Clementine  Sobieski,  granddaughter 
of  the  heroic  king  of  Poland,  and  believed  to  be  one  of  the 
richest  heiresses  of  Europe.  Her  father,  having  failed  of  an 
election  to  the  throne,  was  living  in  Austria  under  the  protec- 
tion of  Charles  the  Sixth,  and  it  seemed  as  though  there  wa3 
something  in  the  destiny  of  the  two  betrothed,  which  gave  a 
peculiar  propriety  to  their  union.  But  the  moment  that  the 
tidings  of  an  event  so  important  to  the  tranquillity  of  his  own 
family  reached  the  ears  of  George  of  England,  he  addressed 
a  strong  remonstrance  to  the  imperial  court,  complaining  of 
this  infraction  of  the  friendship  that  existed  between  the 
two  nations,  and  calling  upon  the  emperor  to  interpose  his 
authority  in  order  to  prevent  its  accomplishment.  Charles 
readily  complied  with  his  demand,  and  forbade  the  marriage ; 
and  shortly  after,  the  young  princess,  who  had  escaped  with 
her  mother  and  was  on  her  way  to  Italy,  was  arrested  at  Inn- 
spruck,  and  shut  up  in  a  convent.  The  evil  star  of  the  Stu- 
arts seemed  to  extend  its  fatal  influence  to  all  those  who  ven- 
tured to  share  in  their  fortunes. 

Among  the  exiles  of  the  insurrection  of  1715  was  John 
Walkenshaw,  Baron  of  Baronstield,  one  of  the  prisoners  of 
Sheriffsmoor,  but  who  had  succeeded  in  making  his  escape  in 
time  to  avoid  the  fate  by  which  so  many  of  his  companions 
had  atoned  for  their  fidelity  to  the  exiled  monarch.  From 
that  time  he  had  continued  to  live  on  the  continent,  still  at- 
tached to  the  cause  for  which  he  had  hazarded  life  and  for- 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  401 

tune,  and  ever  ready  to  give  new  proofs  of  his  devotion. 
For  him,  as  for  all  those  of  his  party,  the  question  of  James's 
marriage  was  one  of  the  deepest  interest,  and  the  news  of 
George's  interference  and  Clementine's  arrest  excited  the 
highest  indignation.  At  first,  he  endeavored  to  intercede 
with  the  emperor  in  her  favor ;  but  failing  in  this,  he  resolved 
to  effect  her  liberation  by  stratagem.  Another  exile,  by  the 
name  of  Wogan,  agreed  to  share  the  hazards  of  the  attempt ; 
and  to  complete  the  party,  they  took  with  them  a  Captain 
Toole  and  Major  Wisset  and  his  wife.  An  Austrian  pass- 
port was  obtained  for  the  Count  de  Cernes  and  his  family, 
pilgrims  to  the  holy  house  of  Loreto,  and  thus  provided  they 
set  out  upon  their  perilous  enterprize.  Lady  Walkenshaw 
was  to  pass  for  the  countess,  and  Wogan  for  her  brother-in- 
law;  while  a  quickwitted  maid,  whose  love  of  a  romantic 
adventure  was  heightened  by  the  promise  of  a  liberal  reward, 
consented  to  play  the  part  of  the  countess's  sister,  until  she 
could  change  places  with  the  princess  in  her  convent-prison. 
So  well  arranged  was  the  whole  plot,  that  the  party  reached 
Innspruck  and  succeeded  in  opening  a  communication  with 
the  prisoner,  without  exciting  suspicion.  Their  offers  of  as- 
sistance were  gladly  accepted ;  the  maid  changed  dresses  with 
the  princess,  and  taking  her  place  in  the  convent,  the  rest  of 
the  party  pushed  on  for  the  Venetian  frontier.  Thence  they 
proceeded  to  Bologna,  where  the  marriage  was  performed  by 
proxy.  The  only  reward  that  Walkenshaw  would  accept  at 
the  hands  of  the  princess  was  the  promise,  that,  if  he  ever  be- 
came a  father,  she  would  stand  godmother  to  his  child.  The 
promise  was  faithfully  performed,  and  the  daughter  that  was 

34* 


402  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

born  to  him  some  time  afterwards  received  at  the  font  the 
name  of  Clementine. 

When  Charles  Edward,  on  laying  siege  to  Stirling,  took 
up  his  quarters   at   the  castle  of  Bannockburn,  the  Jacobite 
leaders  of  the  neighborhood  hastened  to  present  their  families 
at  his  little  court.     Among  the  young  damsels  who  graced 
it,  was  one  of  remarkable  beauty,  whose  aspect  and  man- 
ners, accustomed  as  he  was  to  this   sort  of  homage,  struck 
him  with  peculiar  force.     But  how  much  deeper  was  the  im- 
pression, when  he  heard  the  name  of  Clementine,  and  learned 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  that  noble-hearted  chieftain  to 
whom  his  mother  had  been  indebted  for  her  freedom.     The 
effect  upon  the  mind  of  the  young  Clementine  was  equally 
strong.     This   was  the  prince   of  whom,  from  her   earliest 
childhood,  she  heard  so  often  ;  his  youth,  the  charms  of  his 
manners,  the  graces  of  his  person,  the  romantic  enterprise  in 
which  he  was  engaged,  all  conspired  to  awaken  a  feeling  in 
her  young  heart,  which  she  at  first  may  have  mistaken  for 
loyalty,  though  she  soon  discovered  that  it  was  love.     The 
camp  was   so  near,  and  a  long   siege  leaves  so  many  hours 
unemployed,  that   Charles   Edward,   without  any   apparent 
neglect  of  his  duty,  could  easily  find  time  for  long  and  earnest 
interviews.     He   had  the   story  of  his  own  romantic  adven- 
tures to  tell,  and  could  draw  for  her  bright  pictures  of  the 
sunny  South ;  she,  the  youthful  remembrances  with  which  his 
mother's  name  was  so  closely  interwoven,  and  that  loveliest  of 
all  pictures,  woman's  heart,  unconsciously  yielding,  with   all 
the  fervor  and  self-devotion  of  her  sex,  to  the  pure  and  gentle 
inspirations  of  a  first  and  ardent  love.     Sincere  and  honora- 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  403 

ble  in  his  feelings  Charles  Edward  promised  himself  that  he 
would  soon  be  able  to  place  her  by  his  side  upon  the  throne  of 
Scotland ;  for  she  was  of  an  ancient  family,  allied  to  the  first 
houses  of  the  kingdom,  whose  attachment  would  become  all 
the  stronger  for  so  marked  a  distinction.  But  she  had  read 
the  future  with  woman's  truer  instinct,  and  thought  rather  of 
the  day  when  her  voice  and  her  love  would  be  the  sole  charm 
and  solace  of  his  exile.  And  she  was  true  to  her  word,  and, 
when  every  hope  had  failed  him,  and  the  nearest  and  dearest 
had  abandoned  him  to  his  fate,  she  sought  him  out  in  solitude, 
and  in  the  darkest  hour  of  his  adversity  united  her  destiny 
with  his. 

The  drama  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close.  The  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  who,  after  the  fall  of  Carlisle,  had  returned  to 
London,  no  sooner  received  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Falkirk, 
than  he  resolved  not  to  entrust  the  command  of  the  army  to 
subordinate  hands  any  longer,  but  to  put  himself  at  its  head, 
without  delay,  and  complete  the  conquest  of  Scotland  by  the 
most  vigorous  measures.  He  accordingly  hastened  to  Edin- 
burgh, drew  around  him  all  those  who  had  been  distinguished 
for  their  adhesion  to  his  family,  issued  the  severest  instructions 
to  the  rebels,  and  proclaiming  his  intention  of  putting  a  speedy 
termination  to  the  war,  marched  out,  with  ten  thousand  men, 
in  two  columns,  to  meet  the  enemy.  Charles  Edward  would 
gladly  have  risked  the  chances  of  another  battle ;  but  his 
army  was  too  much  reduced  by  the  customary  desertion  of 
the  Highlanders  to  justify  so  hazardous  a  venture  ;  and 
raising  the  siege  of  the  castle  which  was  on  the  eve  of  sur- 
rendering, he  crossed  the  Forth,  and  retreated  towards  the 


404  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

Highlands.  Here,  in  order  to  facilitate  his  march  and  dis- 
tract the  enemy's  attention,  he  divided  his  army  into  two 
columns,  one  of  which,  under  his  own  guidance,  pursued  the 
direct  route  through  the  mountains,  while  the  other,  led  by 
Lord  George  Murray,  took  the  road  by  the  seacoast  Inver- 
ness was  fixed  upon  for  the  general  rendezvous. 

Cumberland  pursued  him  as  far  as  Perth.  It  was  the 
depth  of  winter,  and  while  the  severity  of  the  weather  and 
the  natural  obstacles  of  a  wild  and  mountainous  country  ar- 
rested his  troops  at  every  step,  and  compelled  him  to  proceed 

with  the  utmost  precaution,  his  light-footed  enemy  was  mov- 

i 
ing  rapidly  before  him,  and  doubling  every  day,  without  any 

perceptible  effort,  the  distance  that  lay  between  them.  These 
considerations,  and  the  news  which  he  had  received  of  the 
landing  of  a  reinforcement  of  six  thousand  men  under  his 
brother-in-law,  Prince  Frederic  of  Hesse,  induced  him  to  re- 
trace his  steps  to  Edinburgh,  where,  after  this  short  experi- 
ence of  the  nature  of  the  opposition  he  was  to  encounter,  he 
would  be  better  able  to  devise  his  measures  for  the  effectual 
subjugation  of  the  kingdom. 

Charles  Edward  easily  gained  possession  of  Inverness, 
though  defended  by  two  thousand  men,  and  spread  his  forces 
over  an  extensive  tract  of  country.  Nothing  else  could  be 
done  till  the  return  of  spring,  and  then,  if  France  should,  in 
the  interval,  fulfil  her  oft-repeated  promises  of  support,  there 
was  every  reason  to  hope  that  he  might  open  the  campaign 
with  the  defeat  of  Cumberland,  and  renew,  under  better  aus- 
pices, his  attempt  upon  England.  These  well  founded  hopes 
were  defeated  by  the  shameful  negligence  and  dilatoriness  of 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  405 

the  court  of  Versailles.  His  remonstrances  were  disregarded, 
his  agents  listened  to  with  incredulity.  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  detailed  all  his  wants,  and  reported  all  his  successes. 
The  king  and  his  ministers,  wavering  and  undecided  in  their 
councils,  subjected  to  the  caprice  and  passions  of  a  vain  and 
voluptuous  mistress,  frittered  away  in  deliberation  the  time 
which  should  have  been  devoted  to  action,  and  persisted, 
with  a  half  timid,  half  treacherous  policy,  in  putting  off  to  the 
morrow  what  could  only  be  accomplished  by  doing  it  to-day. 
Meanwhile  winter  wore  away  and  spring  came  on,  and  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland  hastened  to  take  the  field.  Charles 
Edward  made  every  effort  to  collect  his  army  ;  but  six  thou- 
sand men  were  all  that  he  could  bring  together,  and  part 
of  these  were  soon  dispersed  again  by  the  scarcity  of  pro- 
visions. Cumberland  advanced  towards  Inverness,  and  en- 
camped within  a  few  miles  of  his  antagonist.  Charles  hoped 
to  make  up  for  his  inferiority  by  a  night  attack,  in  which  his 
men  would  have  the  advantage  of  their  familiarity  with  the 
ground.  Two  thousand  men  were  collected  for  the  enter- 
prise, and  midnight,  when  the  English  camp  would  be  buried 
in  that  deep  slumber,  which  follows  an  evening  of  debauch, 
was  fixed  upon  for  the  onset.  But  the  night  was  so  dark  that 
even  the  Highlanders  were  delayed  in  their  march,  and  at 
two  in  the  morning,  they  were  still  three  miles  from  the 
enemy.  Charles  Edward  was  at  hand  with  a  strong  rein- 
forcement, which  he  had  collected  in  order  to  support  the 
main  body.  Several  of  the  chiefs  still  insisted  upon  proceed- 
ing; but  Murray,  whose  prudence  as  a  tactician  led  him 
more  than  once  to  mistake  the  character  of  the  troops  he 


406  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

commanded,  and  the  real  nature  of  his  position,  ordered  a 
retreat.  Tired,  disappointed,  and  hungry,  the  men  retraced 
their  steps. 

At  break  of  day,  Cumberland,  little  dreaming  of  the  danger 
he  had  escaped,  was  under  arms  and  advanced  to  offer  battle. 
And  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  prince  allowed  his  impatience 
to  overcome  him.  Six  thousand  men  were  all  that  he  could 
muster,  and  his  enemy  counted  ten  thousand ;  but  great  as 
the  disparity  was,  he  resolved  to  risk  an  engagement.  His 
council  opposed  his  resolution  with  arguments  and  entreaties ; 
they  painted  the  state  of  the  two  armies,  the  one  exhausted 
by  privations  and  hunger,  the  other  fresh  and  vigorous  from  a 
well  stored  camp.  They  urged  the  necessity  of  giving  time 
for  the  remainder  of  the  clans  to  come  in ;  that  every  day 
would  bring  him  a  new  accession  of  strength,  and  diminish 
that  of  his  antagonist ;  that,  by  confining  himself  to  a  war  of 
skirmishes  and  surprises,  he  could  draw  his  enemy  into  the 
mountains,  entangle  him  in  their  passes,  harass  him  by  cut- 
ting off  his  supplies,  weaken  him  by  surprising  his  detach- 
ments, and,  having  once  got  the  advantage  of  number,  of 
position,  and  of  feeling  upon  his  side,  attack  him  at  his  own 
choice,  and  with  the  certainty  of  success.  The  French 
minister  threw  himself  at  Charles's  feet,  and  begged  him  to 
wait  but  a  few  days  longer.  But  argument  and  entreaty 
were  vain.  The  evil  star  of  the  Stuarts  had  resumed  its  sway, 
and  the  unfortunate  prince  rushed  headlong  upon  his  fate.  It 
is  said,  too,  that  some  of  his  officers  had  been  bought  over  by 
the  enemy,  and  treacherously  labored  to  confirm  him  in  his 
fatal  resolution. 


CHARLES  EDWARD.  407 

The  ill-fated  army  was  encamped  on  the  plains  of  Cullo- 
den.  The  weather  was  piercing  cold ;  they  had  no  beds  but 
the  heather,  which  served  them  also  as  fuel  for  their  fires. 
Part  were  still  dispersed  among  the  mountains  in  search  of 
provisions,  and  others  were  engaged  in  parcelling  out  a  few 
cattle  that  had  been  brought  in  for  food,  when  the  columns 
of  the  enemy  appeared  upon  the  opposite  border  of  the  plain. 
Charles  Edward  had  just  taken  his  seat  at  table ;  but  instead 
of  continuing  his  repast,  though  he  had  been  for  hours  with- 
out food,  he  sprang  instantly  to  his  horse,  and  gave  orders  to 
range  the  troops  for  battle.  The  drum  beat  to  arms,  the 
bagpipes  breathed  forth,  for  the  last  time,  the  shrill  gath- 
ering-call of  the  clans  ;  alarm-guns  were  fired  to  call  in  the 
stragglers.  Soon  they  came  pouring  in,  for  it  was  a  welcome 
sound,  and,  forgetful  of  their  hunger  and  careless  of  their 
inferiority,  they  ranged  themselves  joyously  in  their  ranks, 
each  under  the  chief  and  the  banner  he  had  so  often  followed 
to  victory.  One  good  omen  came  to  cheer  them  at  the  last 
moment ;  the  Frazers  and  MacDonalds,  who  were  supposed 
to  be  still  many  miles  distant,  came  up  in  time  to  take  their 
posts  before  the  battle  began.  But  the  MacPhersons  and 
the  MacGregors,  and  half  of  the  Glengary3,  and  nearly  the 
whole  clan  of  the  MacKenzies,  were  still  absent,  and  six 
thousand  men  were  all  that  could  be  brought  together  for 
this  last  and  decisive  struggle. 

The  army  was  drawn  up  in  two  lines,  the  Highlanders  in 
the  first,  the  Lowlanders  and  foreign  regiments  in  the  second. 
Four  pieces  of  cannon  were  placed  at  each  extremity  of  the 
first  line,  and  four  in  the  centre.     On  the  right  of  the  first 


408  CHARLES  EDWARD. 

line  was  a  squadron  of  the  horse-guards  ;  and  on  the  left  of 
the  second,  Fitz-James's  light  horse.  The  remainder  of  the 
cavalry  was  stationed  with  the  reserve  under  Lord  Kilmar- 
nock. The  prince  took  his  stand  on  the  right  of  the  second 
line,  on  an  eminence  which  commanded  the  field. 

The  Duke  of  Cumberland,  profiting  by  the  disasters  of 
Haw  ley  and  Cope,  had  drawn  up  his  men  in  three  parallel 
divisions,  with  his  cannon  on  one  flank,  and  his  cavalry  on  the 
other.  Each  division  being  composed  of  four  regiments,  eaeh 
regiment  came  in  this  manner  to  serve  as  a  support  for  the 
other,  so  that,  if  the  impetuous  onset  of  the  Highlanders 
should  break  through  one,  there  would  still  be  three  more  to 
overcome  before  they  could  complete  their  victory.  And  in 
order  to  deprive  the  enemy  of  the  defence  of  their  targets, 
the  men  were  ordered  to  present  their  bayonets  obliquely, 
so  as  to  aim  their  blow,  not  at  the  man  immediately  before 
them,  but  at  the  one  at  his  side.  As  a  record  of  Preston  and 
Falkirk,  free  permission  was  granted,  by  the  order  of  the  day, 
to  every  one  that  was  willing  to  confess  himself  a  coward, 
to  withdraw  before  the  battle  began ;  and  certain  death  was 
denounced  as  the  punishment  of  those  who  dared  to  desert 
their  posts  after  the  signal  had  been  given.  "  Flanders ! 
Flanders ! "  was  the  reply,  for  there,  at  least,  these  men  had 
won  the  name  of  veterans. 

The  plain  of  Culloden  is  a  vast  heath,  extending  from  east 
to  west,  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  with  nearly  a 
level  surface.  There  was  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  ground 
to  favor  the  tactics  of  the  mountaineers,  no  strong  position  in 
which  to  make  a  stand,  no  elevation  from  which  to  rush  down 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  409 

upon  their  enemy.  On  their  right,  but  not  near  enough  to 
rest  upon,  were  the  river  Nairn  and  the  mountains ;  on  their 
left,  the  sea  and  the  parks  of  Culloden-house.  The  only  ele- 
vation was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  plain,  and  that  was  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  The  advantage  of  position,  as  well 
as  of  number,  was  against  them. 

It  was  one  in  the  afternoon  when  the  two  armies  drew  nigh 
to  one  another.  The  morning  had  been  clear,  but  now  the 
sky  was  suddenly  overcast,  and  thick  volumes  of  murky  clouds 
began  to  darken  the  air.  A  violent  wind  arose  from  the  north- 
east, accompanied  with  snow  and  rain,  which  it  dashed  in  the 
faces  of  the  Scotch,  as  it  had  done  in  those  of  their  enemies 
on  the  plain  of  Falkirk.  An  indefinite  dread,  a  superstitious 
horror,  seized  the  minds  of  the  Highlanders,  for  it  was  on  their 
own  heath  and  among  their  native  mountains  that  the  ele- 
ments had  declared  against  them. 

The  battle  began  by  a  cannonade,  which,  on  the  part  of 
the  Highlanders,  did  but  little  execution,  for  their  artillerists 
had  miscalculated  the  distance,  and  nearly  all  their  shot  fell 
short.  But  when  the  enemy  came  to  fire  in  turn,  their  balls 
fell  like  hailstones  on  the  Highland  line,  ploughing  deep  fur- 
rows wherever  they  struck  the  plain,  and  carrying  death  and 
confusion  through  the  ranks.  It  was  a  fearful  trial  for  those 
undisciplined  mountaineers,  accustomed  as  they  always  had 
been  to  come  at  once  to  close  quarters,  and  decide  every 
thing  by  the  impetuosity  of  their  onset.  At  length  the  order 
was  given  to  advance,  and  again  their  war-cry  rang  loud  and 
shrill,  and  each  man,  drawing  his  cap  tight  over  his  brow, 
firmly  grasping  his  claymore  in  his  right  hand,  and  throwing 
s  35 


410  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

out  his  dirk  and  target  with  his  left,  sprang  forward  with 
tiger  fury  to  grapple  with  his  foe.  The  English  line  stood 
firm  to  receive  them,  and,  presenting  their  bayonets  obliquely, 
met  the  shock  without  wavering.  The  targets  glanced  harm- 
lessly along  the  polished  barrels  of  the  muskets,  but  the  point 
of  the  bayonet  went  true  to  its  mark,  and  with  every  thrust  a 
Highlander  fell.  Another  struggle,  and  still  another,  and 
the  mangled  bodies  of  the  dead  and  the  dying,  of  friend  and 
foe,  were  heaped  up  like  a  bulwark  in  front  of  the  line.  The 
first  rank  of  the  English  was  crushed,  but  a  terrific  cross-fire 
from  the  second  came  to  support  the  bristling  wall  of  bay- 
onets, at  whose  feet  the  second  rank  of  the  Scotch  fell,  one 
upon  another,  before  they  could  aim  a  blow  in  return.  A 
few  still  pressed  onward  with  the  recklessness  of  despair,  but 
it  was  only  to  swell  the  bloody  pile  of  victims,  and  Wolfe's 
regiment,  formed  en  potence,  now  prepared  with  the  reserve 
and  the  extreme  right  to  envelop  the  survivors.  The  Mac- 
Donalds,  dissatisfied  at  not  having  received  their  usual  post 
on  the  right,  refused  to  charge  with  the  rest  of  the  line,  and, 
after  a  short  scattering  fire,  retired  from  the  field.  Their 
chief  alone  rushed  forward,  with  his  shield-bearer  and  his 
nephew.  "  The  children  of  my  tribe  abandon  me ! "  was  his 
melancholy  cry,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  he  fell,  pierced 
with  wounds. 

The  rout  of  the  first  line  was  complete,  but  the  second 
remained  entire,  and  with  this  Charles  Edward  still  hoped 
to  win  the  day.  His  horse  had  checked  the  English  cavalry, 
and  could  the  Highlanders  have  been  rallied,  and  induced  to 
try  their  terrific  charge  once  more,  it  might  have  been  thrown 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  411 

back  upon  the  infantry,  and  opened  the  way  for  the  advance 
of  the  second  line.  "  Courage ! "  cried  the  prince,  riding  in 
among  them  to  place  himself  at  their  head;  "we  can  yet  make 
the  day  our  own."  But  their  discouragement  had  struck  too 
deep,  and  his  officers,  gathering  around  him,  forced  him  from 
the  field.  A  part  of  the  vanquished  army  fled  towards  In- 
verness, and  part,  crossing  the  Nairn,  dispersed  themselves 
among  the  mountains. 

Resistance  had  ceased,  but  still  the  work  of  death  went  on. 
Cumberland  lingered  upon  the  plain  to  count  his  victims. 
"  Wolfe,  blow  out  that  insolent  fellow's  brains,"  said  he  to  the 
future  hero  of  Quebec,  pointing  out  to  him  a  wounded  High- 
lander, who  had  raised  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  lay  gazing 
upon  his  conqueror  with  a  bitter  smile.  "I  am  no  execution- 
er," replied  Wolfe,  and  the  noble  rebuke  was  long  treasured 
up  with  the  unerring  tenacity  of  revenge. 

The  soldiers,  animated  by  the  example  and  approbation  of 
their  leader,  gave  full  play  to  their  thirst  of  blood.  They 
mangled  the  wounded ;  they  mutilated  the  dead ;  they  dipped 
their  hands  in  the  blood,  and  threw  it  at  one  another  with 
shouts  and  laughter,  as  children  play  with  water.  Those 
whom  they  did  not  see  fit  to  despatch  at  once,  they  stripped 
of  their  clothes,  and,  reserving  them  for  a  longer  torture,  left 
them  naked  upon  the  field,  exposed  to  all  the  horrors  of  a 
tempest  and  a  night  among  the  mountains.  Next  day  they 
returned,  and  renewed  their  fiendlike  sports.  A  few  unhap- 
py wretches,  less  severely  wounded,  or  stronger  than  their 
fellows,  had  survived  the  horrors  of  the  night,  and  were  still 
breathing.     They  were  instantly  despatched,  and  this  might 


412  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

almost  be  called  a  deed  of  mercy.  But  on  counting  their 
victims  anew,  the  third  day  after  the  battle,  it  was  found 
that  some  had  either  escaped,  or  been  carried  away  by  their 
friends.  A  strict  search  was  immediately  instituted  through 
all  the  cottages  of  the  neighborhood,  and  wherever  a  wounded 
soldier  was  found,  he  was  mercilessly  butchered.  There 
was  one  small  party  which  had  taken  refuge  in  a  shed, 
where  the  shepherds  had  kindly  sheltered  them,  and  dressed 
their  wounds.  The  shed  was  instantly  set  on  fire,  and  the 
wounded  men  and  their  protectors  were  consumed  in  the 
flames,  while  a  strong  body  kept  guard  around  it,  that  none 
might  escape.  Nineteen  officers,  after  wandering  two  days 
and  two  nights  in  a  wood,  had  been  admitted  into  a  court- 
yard of  one  of  the  Culloden-house  farms.  The  moment  that 
they  were  discovered,  they  were  seized,  tightly  bound  with 
cords  that  tore  open  their  wounds,  dragged  upon  a  cart  to  a 
neighboring  inclosure,  and  shot;  and  the  murderers,  as  if 
doubting  the  effects  of  their  bullets,  rushed  in  upon  them 
as  they  lay  stretched  upon  the  ground,  and  completed  the 
work  of  death,  by  beating  out  their  brains  with  their  musket- 
stocks.  The  imagination  shrinks  appalled  from  such  wan- 
ton barbarity,  and  one  is  almost  tempted  to  deny  that  deeds 
like  these  could  have  been  perpetrated  in  a  civilized  country, 
and  under  the  eyes  of  a  son  of  the  king  of  England.  But 
the  narratives  which  record  them  are  of  unquestionable  au- 
thenticity, and,  revolting  as  the  picture  is,  we  have  not  hesi- 
tated to  sketch  it,  as  a  record  for  our  countrymen  of  the  ideas 
which,  only  thirty  years  before  the  outbreak  of  our  own  revo- 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  41 3 

lution,  the  king  of  England  and  his  soldiers  attached  to  the 
name  of  rebel.  * 

Meanwhile,  weary,  wounded,  and  disheartened,  Charles 
Edward  had  directed  his  flight  towards  Gorthleek,  a  seat  of 
Lord  Lovat,  the  chief  of  the  Frazers.  His  horse  had  been 
shot  under  him,  and  when  he  presented  himself  in  the  hall, 
with  his  garments  soiled  with  mire  and  stained  with  blood,  the 
vaunted  courage  of  the  wily  old  chief  seemed  to  abandon  him 
at  the  sight,  and,  instead  of  receiving  his  prince  with  words 
of  consolation  and  respect,  he  broke  out  into  exclamations  of 
despair  at  the  ruin  of  his  house,  and  the  bloody  fate  which 
awaited  his  own  gray  hairs.  After  a  few  hours  of  repose, 
the  prince  resumed  his  flight,  with  only  seven  companions, 
part  of  whom  he  was  soon  compelled  to  separate  from ;  for 
the  alarm  had  been  spread,  and  numerous  parties,  allured  by 
the  price  that  had  been  set  upon  his  head,  were  searching 
for  him  in  every  direction.  Soon,  the  country  became  so 
rugged  that  he  could  no  longer  continue  his  way  on  horse- 
back. The  mountains  rose  on  every  side  wild  and  broken, 
separated  only  by  deep  glens,  where  torrents,  swollen  and 
chilled  by  the  rain  and  snow,  were  to  be  forded  at  every 
step.  A  straggling  sheep-path  that  he  found  from  time  to 
time  was  his  only  relief  from  climbing  precipices,  and  letting 
himself  down  the  sides  of  worn  and  slippery  crags.     In  this 

*Four  hundred  English  officers  had  been  released  by  Charles  Edward 
upon  parole.  When  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  came  to  take  the  com- 
mand, he  sent  a  circular  to  them,  ordering  them  to  join  their  regiments 
under  pain  of  disobedience.  All  obeyed  but  four,  who  alone  had  the 
courage  to  reply  to  this  insulting  order, — "that  the  duke  was  master  of 
their  commissions,  but  not  of  their  honor." 

35* 


414  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

way,  after  four  days,  he  reached  the  little  village  of  Glen- 
beisdale,  in  the  canton  of  Moidart,  where,  but  a  few  months 
before,  he  had  landed  so  full  of  confidence  and  hope.  Here 
he  received  a  letter  from  Lord  George  Murray,  begging  him 
to  come  and  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  relics  of  his  army, 
a  little  over  a  thousand  men,  who  were  assembled  at  Bade- 
noch,  and  make  one  effort  more.  But  he  was  now  convinced 
that  nothing  could  be  done  without  the  succors  of  France, 
which,  if  they  had  been  withheld  at  a  moment  when  every- 
thing seemed  to  promise  success,  would  hardly  be  ventured 
after  so  fatal  a  reverse.  His  own  presence  at  Versailles 
seemed  to  offer  the  only  chance  of  bringing  that  hesitating 
and  reluctant  court  to  a  decision,  while  the  utmost  that  he 
could  hope  to  accomplish  by  remaining  in  Scotland  would  be 
to  keep  up  for  a  few  weeks  longer  a  destructive  partisan 
warfare,  which,  even  if  successful,  could  lead  to  no  decisive 
results.  This  reasoning,  so  plausible  in  itself,  was  supported 
by  the  advice  of  Clanranald  and  the  other  chiefs  who  had 
joined  him ;  and  although,  upon  a  cooler  examination,  there 
appear  many  grounds  for  calling  its  correctness  in  doubt,  yet 
it  can  hardly  be  considered  surprising  that  it  should  have  been 
adopted  as  the  wisest  course,  at  a  moment  of  such  deep  de- 
pression. Sorrow  has  its  intoxication  as  well  as  joy,  and  few 
men  have  received  from  nature,  or  won  by  education,  a  tex- 
ture of  mind  firm  enough  to  justify  that'inconsiderate  condem- 
nation, which  is  lavished  so  freely  upon  the  errors  into  which 
despondency  sometimes  leads  the  wisest  and  the  best. 

The  whole  country  was  now  on  the  alarm ;  English  cruisers 
hovering  on  the  coast,  and  guarding  the  passes  of  the  islands, 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  415 

and  strong  bands  of  soldiers  scattered  in  patrols  along  the 
shore  and  through  the  valleys,  following  like  bloodhounds 
upon  every  track,  and  subjecting  every  nook  and  corner  to 
the  most  rigorous  examination.  Charles  Edward  was  not 
suffered  to  remain  long  in  tranquillity  at  his  little  asylum  of 
Airsaig.  His  traces  had  been  discovered,  and  a  party  was 
approaching  to  seize  him.  His  companions  fled  in  different 
directions,  and  he  took  refuge  in  a  wood.  As  he  was  wan- 
dering here  alone,  at  a  loss  which  way  to  direct  his  steps,  he 
met  the  pilot  whom  he  had  sent  for  to  the  isle  of  Skye.  It 
was  a  cheering  omen,  and  seemed  to  say  that  all  had  not 
abandoned  him  in  this  hour  of  need.  The  weather  was  upon 
the  point  of  changing,  and  the  heavens  were  lowering  with 
the  well  known  signs  of  an  approaching  tempest.  It  seemed 
like  courting  destruction  to  embark  at  such  a  moment  upon 
that  stormy  sea ;  but  to  remain  on  shore  was  captivity  or  death. 
The  tempest  burst  upon  them  in  all  its  fury.  The  rain  fell 
in  torrents  upon  their  unprotected  heads.  The  waves  tossed 
their  little  barque  like  foam,  seeming  at  times  as  if  they  would 
engulf  it  in  their  abysses,  or  dash  it  in  fragments  upon  the 
rock-bound  coast,  where  the  breakers  broke  with  that  hollow, 
ominous  sound  which  makes  the  stoutest  seaman  quail.  Night 
came  on,  and  they  had  no  compass  to  steer  by.  In  ten  hours, 
they  had  run  a  hundred  miles,  and  at  length  they  landed  on 
the  little  island  of  Benbecula.  It  was  almost  a  desert.  A 
few  crabs  which  they  caught  among  the  rocks,  and  a  little 
barley-meal  mixed  with  water,  was  their  only  food ;  an  old 
cow-house  was  their  shelter.  Next  day  they  found  the  cow, 
and  made  a  better  meal. 


416  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

The  tempest  still  continued  to  rage  with  unabated  violence, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  29th  that  they  were  enabled  to  embark 
once  more,  and  direct  their  course  towards  Lewis  island, 
when  they  hoped  to  find  a  French  cruiser.  But  they  had 
hardly  put  off  when  another  tempest  came  up,  which  drove 
them  to  the  islet  of  Glass.  Here  they  gave  themselves 
out  for  shipwrecked  merchants,  O'Sullivan  taking  the  name  of 
St.  Clair,  and  passing  the  prince  for  his  son.  A  farmer  gave 
them  shelter,  and  lent  his  boat  to  MacLeod,  the  pilot,  to  go  upon 
the  lookout  as  far  as  Stornoway,  the  port  of  Lewis  island, 
which  they  looked  to  as  the  end  of  their  wanderings.  He  soon 
sent  back  word  to  the  prince  to  follow  him,  but  the  wind  again 
drove  the  wanderer  from  his  course,  and  he  was  compelled 
to  land  at  Loch  Seaforth,  and  continue  his  journey  on  foot. 
The  guide  missed  his  way,  and  it  was  not  till  the  evening  of 
the  second  day  that  he  reached  Point  Ayrnish,  a  mile  from 
Stornoway.  Here  he  stopped,  while  one  of  the  party  went 
forward  to  reconnoitre.  MacLeod  soon  joined  him,  not  with 
the  cheering  tidings  that  the  vessel  he  had  hoped  to  find  was 
ready  to  receive  him,  but  to  tell  him  that  the  population, 
warned  of  his  approach,  were  upon  the  point  of  rising  to  re- 
pel him  or  make  him  prisoner,  unless  he  consented  to  retrace 
his  steps  without  delay.  Burke  was  for  returning  at  once. 
"  My  good  friend,"  said  Charles  Edward,  "  if  you  are  afraid, 
you  will  spoil  our  supper.  If  it  is  me  that  you  are  alarmed 
for,  be  under  no  uneasiness,  for  nobody  will  ever  take  me 
alive  ;  and  woe  to  the  first  man  that  comes  near  me  with  any 
such  intention !  But  there  is  a  time  for  every  thing,  and  the 
most  important  question  at  this  moment,  is  how  to  get  supper." 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  417 

They  remained  there  all  that  night  and  started  again  at  day- 
break, and  now  a  new  danger  presented  itself;  for  a  few  hours 
after  they  had  left  the  shore,  four  cruisers  hove  in  sight,  and 
they  were  compelled  to  take  shelter  in  the  little  island  of  Is- 
surt,  where  they  passed  four  days  in  a  hut  without  a  roof.  At 
length  they  ventured  out  again,  creeping  under  the  shore  of 
that  long  chain  of  islands  which  are  comprised  under  the  gen- 
eral name  of  Long  Island,  being  supposed  to  have  been  origi- 
nally all  united  in  one.  The  cruisers  continued  to  hang  upon 
their  track,  and  pursue  them  from  point  to  point,  so  that  it  was 
only  by  slipping  in  between  the  rocks  and  islets,  where  they 
were  hidden  from  view,  that  they  succeeded  in  escaping.  In 
this  manner  they  came  back  again  to  Benbecula,  closely  pur- 
sued by  an  English  cruiser,  which  was  happily  driven  off  by 
a  sudden  squall,  just  as  they  came  to  shore.  Here,  while  they 
lived  on  shell-fish,  hiding  themselves  during  the  day  in  a  little 
hut,  the  entrance  of  which  was  so  low  that  they  were  obliged 
to  crawl  into  it  on  hands  and  kness,  one  of  the  party  was 
sent  to  invite  the  old  chief  of  Clanranald,  who  lived  on  Long 
Island,  to  an  interview,  and  another  with  letters  to  Lochiel 
and  Murray  of  Broughton,  the  prince's  secretary.  Clanranald 
came  in  the  night,  attended  by  his  children's  tutor,  Mac- 
Donald,  or,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  MacEachen,  who 
from  that  time  attached  himself  to  the  prince's  person.  The 
old  chief  was  deeply  moved  to  find  the  son  of  his  sovereign 
in  this  miserable  little  hovel,  with  his  clothes  falling  off  in 
shreds,  and  his  whole  frame  extenuated  by  hunger  and  fa- 
tigue. It  would  have  been  dangerous  to  both,  to  have  carried 
him  to  his  own  dwelling ;  but  MacEachen  was  ordered  to 


418 


CHARLES    EDWARD. 


conduct  him  to  a  little  country-house  at  Corodale,  a  valley  in 
the  centre  of  South  Uist.  After  the  huts  and  caverns  in 
which  he  had  been  living,  this  seemed  to  Charles  like  a  pa- 
lace. Here  he  remained  for  several  weeks.  Nearly  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  island  were  partisans  of  his  family,  and 
none  would  be  likely  to  betray  him,  even  if  they  had  known 
that  he  was  among  them.  Game  was  plenty,  and  he  amused 
himself  with  fishing  and  shooting,  and  was  sometimes  not  a 
little  surprised  to  find  himself  as  happy  at  a  good  shot  as  he 
had  ever  been  after  a  victory.  From  time  to  time  Lady 
MacDonald  sent  him  the  newspapers,  bringing  him  back 
again  to  the  world,  which  he  had  lost  sight  of  during  his 
flight. 

One  evening,  as  his  faithful  companion,  Burke,  was  prepar- 
ing for  supper  part  of  a  deer,  the  fruit  of  that  day's  hunt,  a 
young  beggar,  allured  by  the  savory  odor,  came  and  seated 
himself  at  Charles  Edward's  side,  to  claim  his  share  in  the 
feast.  Burke,  more  attentive  than  his  master  to  the  distinc- 
tions of  etiquette,  was  upon  the  point  of  driving  him  away. 
"  Remember,  my  friend,"  said  the  prince,  "  that  the  Scripture 
bids  us  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  naked.  Let  this  man 
eat,  and  after  he  has  done,  you  will  give  him  a  coat  to  cover 
himself  with." 

Never  was  charity  worse  bestowed,  for  the  wretch  had  no 
sooner  swallowed  his  meal,  and  drawn  his  new  garment 
around  him,  than  he  hastened  to  give  information  to  the 
agents  of  government  against  the  suspicious  stranger,  who 
was  thus  secreted  in  the  heart  of  the  island.  Charles  Edward 
was  compelled  to  abandon  his  quiet  asylum,  and  trust  himself 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  419 

once  more  to  the  chances  of  the  winds  and  the  waves.  For 
awhile  he  wandered  about  from  island  to  island,  shifting  his 
abode  as  the  danger  drew  nigh,  and  returning 'again  when 
it  was  passed.  At  last  he  came  back  to  Benbecula.  He 
had  been  obliged  to  separate  from  O'Sullivan,  Burke,  and 
MacLeod ;  O'Niel  and  MacEachen  were  the  only  ones  that 
he  had  kept  with  him,  and  so  closely  was  the  net  now  drawn 
around  him  that  it  seemed  as  if  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  save  him  from  the  hands  of  his  pursuers. 

In  this  extremity,  a  young  girl  of  about  his  own  age,  whose 
heart  had  been  touched  by  the  melancholy  tale  of  his  perils, 
undertook  to  become  his  guide.  Her  name  was  Flora  Mac- 
Donald.  She  was  daughter  of  a  petty  laird  of  South  Uist, 
who  had  been  dead  several  years,  and  her  mother  was  now 
married  to  another  MacDonald  of  the  isle  of  Skye.  Her 
education  had  been  that  of  a  simple  country-girl  of  good 
family,  but  her  beauty,  and  her  strong  natural  sense,  accom- 
panied by  deep  feeling  and  heart-sprung  enthusiasm,  had 
made  her  a  favorite  of  the  Clanranalds,  and  other  noble  fami- 
lies of  the  neighborhood,  in  which  she  was  a  frequent  and 
welcome  visiter. 

When  Flora  took  this  adventurous  resolution,  she  had 
never  seen  the  prince,  and  knew  him  only  by  the  songs  which 
recorded  his  early  triumphs,  and  the  tales  which  were  whis- 
pered from  mouth  to  mouth,  of  his  subsequent  disasters  and 
dangers.  O'Niel  and  MacEachen  accompanied  her  to  the 
first  interview,  for  nobody  else  knew  the  secret  of  his  hiding- 
place.  She  found  him  in  a  little  cavern  formed  by  a  crevice 
in  the  rocks,  his  garments  soiled,  his  cheeks  pale,  his  eyes 


420  CHARLES   EDWARD. 

hollow  and  sunken,  his  hands  covered  with  a  cutaneous  disor- 
der, which  he  had  contracted  in  shifting  about  among  hovels 
and  caverns,  and  his  whole  aspect  so  care-worn  and  hag- 
gard, that  she  burst  into  tears  at  the  sight.  But  his  cheerful- 
ness soon  dried  her  tears,  and  the  gaiety  with  which  he  spoke 
of  his  own  appearance  and  situation  made  her  laugh  in  despite 
of  her  melancholy.  After  staying  as  long  as  she  dared,  she 
gave  him  a  basket  of  provisions  and  a  change  of  linen,  which 
she  had  brought  for  his  use,  and  took  her  leave,  with  the  pro- 
mise of  a  speedy  return.  If  before  she  had  seen  him,  she  had 
felt  disposed  to  make  an  effort  in  his  favor,  she  was  now  re- 
solved to  save  him  at  every  hazard.  Her  mother  was  at  the 
isle  of  Skye,  which  would  afford  a  sufficient  pretext  for  a 
journey  thither ;  and  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  making  these 
little  excursions  frequently,  either  by  herself  or  with  a  single 
attendant,  there  was  every  reason  to  hope  that  this  too  might 
pass  off  without  attracting  attention.  The  chief  difficulty  lay 
in  framing  a  suitable  disguise  for  the  prince ;  for  at  this  mo- 
ment everybody  was  closely  watched,  and  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  travelling  in  security,  without  a  passport  that  covered 
the  whole  party.  The  habits  of  the  country  suggested  an  ex- 
pedient. Mrs.  MacDonald  was  a  thrifty  housewife,  and  would 
be  glad  to  have  an  able-bodied  maid  to  assist  her  in  her  spin- 
ning. This  would  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  introducing  an- 
other name  upon  the  passport,  and,  the  first  step  made  sure, 
fortune  would  decide  the  rest.  The  prince  was  informed  of 
the  character  that  he  was  to  assume,  and  Lady  Clanranald 
and  Lady  MacDonald  assisted  Flora  in  preparing  his  disguise. 
While  these  preparations  were  going  on,  she  continued 


CHARLES    ED  WARD.  421 

from  time  to  time  to  visit  the  prince  in  his  cavern,  sometimes 
with  Lady  Clanranald,  and  sometimes  with  MacEachen,  but 
always  at  intervals  and  with  the  utmost  precaution,  in  order 
to  avoid  exciting  suspicion  by  going  too  often  in  the  same  di- 
rection. This  was  the  sole  relief  that  Charles  Edward  en- 
joyed from  the  monotony  and  anxiety  of  his  situation ;  and 
when,  as  sometimes  happened,  three  or  four  days  passed  away 
without  a  visit  from  Flora,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could 
curb  his  impatience.  And  well  may  his  impatience  be  ex- 
cused, for  it  would  be  hard  to  conceive  of  a  situation  more 
trying.  The  spot  in  which  he  had  taken  shelter  was  rather  a 
crevice  in  the  rocks  than  a  cavern.  With  every  shower,  — 
and  in  that  climate  there  are  many,  —  the  water  penetrated 
through  the  fissures,  dropping  upon  his  head,  and  collecting 
in  the  folds  of  the  tartan  with  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to 
protect  himself.  All  that  his  companion,  a  hardy  islander, 
could  do  to  assist  him,  was  to  shake  out  the  water  when  the 
folds  were  filled.  To  complete  his  sufferings,  the  flies  would 
gather  around  him  in  swarms,  biting  his  hands  and  face  so 
sharply  that  sometimes,  with  all  his  self-control,  it  would  wring 
from  him  a  shriek  of  agony.  His  food  was  brought  him  by  a 
little  milk-girl,  who  also  stood  on  the  watch  to  keep  him  in- 
formed of  the  movements  of  the  soldiery.  At  length,  after 
many  a  day  of  anxious  expectation,  and  many  a  hair-breadth 
escape,  the  preparations  were  all  completed ;  and  on  the  eve- 
ning of  the  28th  of  June,  after  one  more  narrow  escape  from 
a  party  of  soldiers  that  were  prowling  along  the  coast,  he  em- 
barked with  Flora  and  MacEachen  in  an  open  boat  for  the 
isle  of  Skye. 

86 


422  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

They  had  hardly  been  aboard  an  hour,  when  the  wind 
began  to  rise,  and  the  sea  with  it.  The  oarsmen  shook  their 
heads  ominously  as  they  gazed  at  the  rising  billows,  for  their 
frail  bark  was  but  ill  fitted  to  stand  the  shock  of  a  tempest. 
To  distract  their  attention  from  the  danger,  Charles  Edward 
sang  them  the  songs,  which  he  had  learned  around  the  High- 
land watch-fires,  and  rehearsed  those  wild  legends  of  the  olden 
time  which  have  such  a  charm  in  that  land  of  mist  and  storm. 
Calm  returned  with  day-light,  and  after  wandering  for  a  while 
at  venture,  they  found  themselves  near  the  western  point  of 
the  isle  of  Skye.  As  they  were  rowing  along  under  the  shore, 
a  platoon  of  soldiers  suddenly  appeared  on  the  rocks  and  or- 
dered them  to  land.  They  were  within  gunshot,  and  before 
the  boatmen  could  put  about,  the  soldiers  fired.  Flora  would 
not  consent  to  stoop  her  head  until  the  prince  did  so  too,  but 
fortunately,  though  the  balls  fell  all  around  them,  nobody 
was  hurt. 

At  last,  they  landed  at  the  north  end  of  the  island,  and 
Charles  Edward  remained  with  MacEachen,  while  Flora 
went  forward  to  MacDonald  Castle  to  consult  about  their 
future  movements.  She  found  the  castle  full  of  officers  and 
soldiers.  It  was  decided  that  the  prince  should  take  refuge 
in  the  little  island  of  Raasay.  Lady  MacDonald  sent  Kings- 
bury, her  steward,  to  attend  him  and  conduct  him  to  his  own 
house,  where  he  was  to  pass  the  night/  Flora  rejoined  them 
on  the  road.  It  was  long  after  nightfall  when  they  reached 
the  house,  and  all  the  family  were  abed.  Mrs.  Kingsbury  - 
hastened  down  to  receive  her  husband  and  guests,  and  was 
not  a  little  terrified,  upon  saluting  the  supposed  Betty,  to  find 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  423 

a  rough  beard  instead  of  the  smooth  cheek  of  a  woman.  "  It 
is  an  outlaw,  then,  that  you  have  brought  home  with  you !" 
said  she  to  her  husband.  "  It  is  the  prince  himself,"  replied 
Kingsbury.  "  The  prince !  alas !  then  we  are  all  undone !" 
"  We  can  die  but  once,"  said  the  faithful  islander,  "  and  where 
could  we  find  a  nobler  cause  to  die  in  ?  But  make  haste  and 
get  some  supper  for  his  Royal  Highness ;  give  us  some  eggs, 
and  butter,  and  cheese."  "  Eggs,  butter,  and  cheese  for  a 
prince's  supper!"  cried  the  good  woman  in  astonishment. 
"If  you  knew  what  kind  of  suppers  he  has  been  eating 
of  late,  you  would  call  that  a  feast.  Besides,  if  you  were  to 
make  any  unusual  preparation,  it  might  excite  suspicion ;  so 
make  haste,  and  come  and  take  your  place  at  table."  "  At 
table  with  a  prince !"  "  To  be  sure.  He  would  not  eat  with- 
out you,  and  his  gracious  manners  will  soon  put  you  at  your 
ease."  The  supper  was  indeed  a  feast  for  Charles  Edward, 
and  when  the  ladies  had  retired,  he  remained  at  table  to  keep 
his  host  company,  as  gay,  and  apparently  as  unconcerned,  as 
though  he  had  never  seen  a  day  of  sorrow.  It  was  only  in 
his  slumbers  that  he  betrayed  the  real  state  of  his  mind,  and 
then  no  selfish  complaint,  no  lament  for  his  own  sufferings, 
was  ever  heard  to  escape  him ;  but  "  Alas,  my  poor  Scot- 
land !"  was  the  exclamation  that  broke  from  his  lips. 

Next  morning  he  was  again  on  his  way ;  but  not  till  after 
a  hearty  breakfast,  and  after  leaving  a  lock  of  his  hair  for 
Flora  and  his  hostess,  which,  with  the  worn-out  shoes  that  he 
had  exchanged  for  a  new  pair  of  Kingsbury's,  and  the  sheets 
in  which  he  had  slept,  were  carefully  treasured  up  as  precious 
relics  of  those  days  of  trial.      A  circuitous  route  brought 


424  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

them  down  to  the  shore,  where  he  was  to  embark  for  Raasay. 
The  blood  gushed  from  his  nostrils  in  a  copious  stream  as  he 
bade  adieu  to  Kingsbury  and  to  the  noble-hearted  Flora,  who 
were  soon  to  atone  by  a  long  captivity  for  this  act  of  self- 
devotion. 

Malcolm  MacLeod,  a  cousin  of  the  laird  of  Raasay,  and 
who  had  served  in  the  prince's  army  as  a  captain,  now  be- 
came his  guide,  and  with  him,  after  passing  several  days  in  a 
little  hut  on  the  island,  he  again  returned  through  another 
tempest  to  the  isle  of  Skye,  and  roamed  for  a  while  among 
the  mountains,  till  his  provisions  were  all  exhausted.  In  this 
extremity,  Malcolm  resolved  to  carry  him  to  the  house  of  his 
sister,  who  had  married  the  laird  of  MacKinnon.  His  bro- 
ther-in-law was  absent,  but  his  sister  received  him  with  open 
arms,  and  went  out  herself  to  keep  watch,  while  her  guests 
reposed  within.  The  old  nurse  came  to  wash  Malcolm's  feet, 
and  when  she  had  done,  he  asked  her  to  wash  the  prince's, 
who  passed  for  his  servant.  "  I  have  washed  the  feet  of  your 
father's  son,"  said  she ;  "  but  why  should  I  wash  the  feet  of 
his  father's  son  ?"  "  But  my  good  mother,"  replied  Malcolm, 
"  it  will  be  an  act  of  Christian  charity.  He,  too,  is  weary  as 
well  as  I."  "  And  a  great  deal  dirtier,  too ;"  which  was  true, 
for  the  prince  had  fallen  into  a  quagmire,  and  was  covered 
with  mud.  However,  the  old  woman  complied,  though  not 
without  murmuring,  and  when  she  came  to  wipe  his  legs,  she 
hand  ed  her  towel  so  roughly  as  to  extort  a  slight  expression 
of  suffering  from  her  patient  "In  sooth,"  cried  she  with  great 
indignation,  "  it  well  becomes  your  father's  son  to  complain  of 
my  father's  daughter !" 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  425 

The  wanderers  slept  a  few  hours.  Charles  Edward  was 
the  first  to  wake,  and,  seeing  the  little  boy  of  his  hostess  near 
him,  took  the  child  upon  his  knees  and  began  to  sing  to  him. 
While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Malcolm  came  in  with  the  nurse, 
not  a  little  surprised  to  see  how  he  was  occupied.  "  Who 
knows,"  said  the  prince,  "  but  that  this  boy  may  some  day  or 
other  become  a  captain  in  my  service  ?"  "  Say,  rather,"  cried 
the  indignant  old  woman,  "  that  you  may  perhaps  get  to  be  a 
sergeant  in  his  company."  Mrs.  MacKinnon  now  came  to 
announce  her  husband's  return,  and  Malcolm  went  out  to 
meet  him.  "  What  would  you  do,"  said  he  to  his  brother-in- 
law,  if  the  prince  were  to  come  to  you  for  an  asylum  ?"  "  I 
would  give  my  life  to  save  him."  "  Come,  then,  for  he  waits 
you  at  your  house." 

Despairing  of  meeting  a  vessel  among  the  islands,  which, 
moreover,  could  no  longer  be  relied  upon  as  a  shelter,  Charles 
Edward  resolved  to  return  to  the  main  land.  MacKinnon 
furnished  him  with  a  boat,  and,  bidding  adieu  to  Malcolm,  he 
embarked  in  the  height  of  a  gale,  and  under  the  guns  of  two 
cruisers,  confidently  assuring  his  companions  that  the  weather 
would  quickly  change,  and  deliver  him  both  from  the  tempest 
and  his  enemies.  Months  of  peril  and  daily  familiarity  with 
danger  had  given  him  a  confidence  in  his  good  fortune,  which 
could  not  easily  be  shaken.  His  prediction  was  verified. 
The  horizon  cleared,  and  a  sudden  change  in  the  wind  drove 
the  cruisers  off  the  coast.  In  embarking  for  Raasay,  Charles 
Edward  had  quitted  his  disguise  for  the  dress  of  an  islander, 
and  this  he  now  exchanged  for  the  costume  of  a  mountaineer. 
The  passage  was  quick,  and  the  MacKinnons  moored  their 

36* 


426  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

little  boat  at  the  southern  extremity  of  Loch  Nevis.  The 
first  three  nights  they  slept  in  the  open  air,  the  fourth  in  a 
cavern,  and  then  wandered  from  one  to  another  of  the  misera- 
ble little  huts,  which  the  inhabitants  had  hastily  erected  upon 
the  ruins  of  their  houses  ;  for  the  vengeance  of  the  Hanove- 
rians had  swept  over  the  country,  and  blood  and  ashes  were 
the  records  it  had  left  behind.  In  this  way  the  MacKinnons 
brought  him  in  safety  to  the  lands  of  MacDonald  of  Boisdale. 
"  We  have  performed  our  duty,"  said  they,  "  to  the  son  of  our 
king ;  it  is  now  your  turn."  "  And  I  am  happy  to  have  the 
opportunity,"  was  the  noble  reply. 

Great  as  Charles's  sufferings  and  privations  had  been,  the 
hardest  were  yet  to  come.  The  passes  of  the  mountains  had 
been  occupied  by  two  corps  of  troops,  of  five  hundred  men 
each,  who,  like  skilful  hunters,  were  every  day  drawing  closer 
and  closer  the  circle  which  they  had  formed  around  their  prey. 
After  three  days,  which  he  passed  in  a  cave,  he  was  joined  by 
his  new  guide,  MacDonald  of  Glenaladale,  and  began  his  life  of 
wandering  once  more.  Sometimes  a  glass  of  milk  was  his 
only  food  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  then  again  two  whole 
days  would  pass  before  he  could  find  even  that.  His  pursu- 
ers were  so  close  upon  him,  that  the  light  of  their  watchfires 
was  often  his  only  guide  in  escaping  them,  and  more  than  once 
he  had  cause  to  bless  the  tempest  and  the  mist,  which  came 
to  screen  him  when  every  other  shelter  had  failed.  Once  he 
forgot  his  purse,  and  while  Glenaladale  went  back  to  look  for 
it,  a  party  of  soldiers  passed  directly  under  the  rock  behind 
which  the  prince  was  secreted.  Another  time,  after  walking 
all  night  he  came  out  upon  a  point  from  where  he  could  see  the 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  427 

kind  of  chase,  in  which  the  soldiers  pursued  the  mountaineers, 
driving  them  before  them  and  keeping  up  a  constant  fire  with 
their  muskets,  as  if  the  poor  wretches  had  been  beasts  of  pre/ 
enveloped  in  the  toils.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  and 
would  have  rushed  forward  to  their  defence,  if  his  companions 
had  not  forcibly  prevented  him  from  this  rash  exposure  of  his 
person.  Yielding  reluctantly  to  their  remonstrances,  he  con- 
tinued his  march  all  day,  and  at  night  took  shelter  in  a  crevice 
among  the  rocks,  so  narrow  that  he  could  not  lie  down  in  it,  and 
so  exposed  that  the  wind  and  rain  came  in  on  every  side.  At 
first,  his  companions  tried  to  kindle  a  fire,  but  found  it  impossi- 
ble. "  Never  mind,"  said  he,  "  let  us  content  ourselves  with 
the  sparks." 

The  next  day  brought  them  to  the  canton  of  the  "  seven 
men  of  Glenmoriston,"  a  band  of  outlaws,  who  had  taken  re- 
fuge among  the  wildest  passes  of  the  mountains,  every  foot  of 
which  they  were  familiar  with,  and  where  they  lived  at 
the  sword's  point,  setting  the  English  at  defiance,  while  all  the 
rest  of  the  country,  was  a  prey  to  the  outrages  of  the  soldiery. 
It  was  from  these  men  that  Charles  Edward  resolved  to  ask 
shelter.  Glenaladale  went  forward  to  treat  with  them,  hoping 
to  pass  off  the  prince  for  Clanranald.  "  Clanranald  is  wel- 
come," said  they ;  but  no  sooner  did  they  see  the  pretended 
chieftain,  than  one  of  them  hastened  forward,  crying  aloud, 
with  a  significant  air,  —  you  are  come,  then,  at  last,  Dougal 
Maccolony  ? "  He  had  recognized  the  prince  under  his 
coarse  tartan,  all  soiled  and  ragged  as  he  was,  and  Charles 
Edward  perceiving  his  intention,  answered  readily  to  the 
name.     The  chief  now  proposed  the  robber's  oath :  —  "  May 


428  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

we  turn  our  backs  to  God  and  our  faces  to  the  Devil,  may  all 
the  curses  of  the  Bible  fall  upon  us  and  our  children,  if  ever 
we  betray  those  who  confide  in  us."  When  it  came  to  the 
prince's  turn,  they  told  him  that  an  oath  from  him  was  need- 
less, for  they  knew  who  he  was,  and,  falling  on  their  knees, 
swore  to  stand  by  him  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood. 

To  procure  him  a  change  of  linen,  they  waylaid  an  English 
officer ;  to  supply  his  table,  they  laid  the  sheepcots  of  the 
surrounding  country  under  contribution;  and,  hearing  him 
express  a  wish  for  a  newspaper,  one  of  them  ventured  into 
Fort  Augustus  in  disguise,  and  brought  away  the  papers  of 
the  commander.  Sometimes  Charles  Edward  would  reprove 
them  for  their  profanity,  and  they  listened  respectfully  to  his 
rebukes ;  for,  wherever  he  went,  he  was  sure  to  win  the 
affections  of  his  companions,  and  when,  in  after  years,  those 
iron-hearted  men  told  the  story  of  his  sojourn  among  them, 
it  was  always  with  a  tremulous  voice  and  eyes  dimmed  with 
tears. 

After  three  weeks  of  this  wild  life,  he  joined  the  Camerons 
in  the  little  hut  where  Lochiel  had  taken  refuge.  Glenala- 
dale  was  despatched  to  the  coast,  to  try  if  he  could  hear 
tidings  of  a  vessel.  In  a  few  days  the  prince  was  obliged  to 
flee  again  to  another  shelter,  which  he  now  found  in  a  cavern 
among  the  rocks  of  Letternilich,  called  the  Cage,  so  high  in  the 
air  and  of  a  form  so  peculiar,  that  it  looks  as  if  a  giant's  hand 
had  suspended  it  there.  Here  he  remained  eleven  days,  from 
the  2d  to  the  13th  of  September,  when  Glenaladale  came 
back  with  the  joyful  tidings  that  two  French  ships  of  war  had 
cast  anchor  in  Lochnanaugh  bay.  The  five  months  of  wan- 
dering and  peril  were  at  length  at  a  close. 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  423 

On  the  19th  of  September,  Charles  Edward  descended 
to  the  shore,  attended  by  Lochiel  and  his  brother,  and  a 
numerous  train  of  their  friends  and  adherents,  who  preferred 
exile  in  a  foreign  land,  to  the  persecutions  which  awaited 
them  at  home.  A  large  crowd,  brothers,  sisters,  and  friends, 
were  gathered  on  the  beach  to  bid  them  an  adieu,  which, 
whatever  might  be  the  caprices  of  fortune,  must  for  so  many 
of  them  be  the  last.  A  gleam  of  hope  seemed  to  light  up 
their  dejected  countenances,  when  the  prince  spoke  to  them 
of  happy  days  yet  in  store,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  promised 
that  he  would  again  come  back  to  them,  with  a  more  power- 
ful army  and  for  a  surer  triumph.  But  when  they  looked 
upon  his  haggard  features,  and  tattered  garments,  and  saw 
in  the  melancholy  train  of  exiles  that  surrounded  him,  the 
bravest  and  most  beloved  of  their  chiefs,  their  hearts  sank 
within  them,  and  their  farewell  was  uttered  in  sighs  and  tears. 

Another  danger  awaited  the  prince  on  the  coast  of  France, 
from  an  English  fleet  which  was  cruising  there,  and  which  he 
was  fortunate  enough  to  pass  through  under  cover  of  a  fog. 
At  length,  on  the  10th  of  October,  after  a  tedious  and  anxious 
passage  of  twenty  days,  he  landed  at  RoscofF,  near  Morlaix, 
on  the  coast  of  Brittany.  The  moment  that  his  arrival 
became  known,  the  noblemen  of  the  province  hastened  to  bid 
him  welcome,  vying  with  each  other  in  supplying  his  wants 
and  those  of  his  companions.  After  two  days'  repose,  he  set 
out  for  Paris,  whither  he  had  already  despatched  one  of  his 
attendants  with  letters  to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  York,  who 
came  out  to  meet  him  and  accompany  him  to  the  castle  of  St. 
Antoine,  which  had  been  fitted  up  for  his  reception  by  order 


CHARLES    EDWARD. 

of  the  court.  This  time,  the  king  could  not  refuse  to  admit 
him  to  his  presence ;  and  accordingly,  a  few  days  after  his 
arrival  at  Paris,  he  proceeded  with  a  splendid  train  to  Fon- 
tainebleau,  where  the  court  was  then  residing,  in  order  to 
receive  his  audience.  The  story  of  his  gallantry  and  his 
romantic  adventures  had  excited  a  strong  interest  in  the 
Parisian  circles,  and  he  was  everywhere  received  with  the 
most  unequivocal  marks  of  enthusiasm  and  sympathy.  But 
the  ministry  still  continued  to  meet  all  his  proposals  with 
doubts  and  objections,  and  he  was  not  long  in  perceiving  that 
there  was  nothing  to  hope  from  a  government  frivolously  false, 
and  a  court  sunk  in  debauchery.  He  went  to  Madrid,  and 
was  equally  unsuccessful.  Soon  after  his  return,  the  peace 
of  Aix-la-Chapelle  was  signed,  and  he  was  driven  from  his 
asylum  in  France,  under  circumstances  of  the  utmost  indignity 
and  humiliation.  Avignon,  which  was  then  under  the  domin- 
ion of  the  church,  proved  an  insecure  refuge,  and  Venice 
refused  to  receive  him. 

All  at  once  he  disappeared  from  the  world ;  all  traces  of 
him  were  lost,  his  letters  were  without  date,  and  nobody  knew 
whither  he  had  gone.  Meanwhile,  his  partisans  in  London 
were  preparing  for  a  new  outbreak,  and,  could  their  reports 
be  trusted,  everything  was  ripe  for  a  revolution.  All  of  a 
sudden  he  appeared  in  the  midst  of  them,  at  a  large  assembly 
which  had  been  called  in  London,  in  order  to  receive  some 
important  communications  from  France.  "  Here  I  am,"  said 
he,  "  ready  to  raise  my  banner ;  give  me  four  thousand  men, 
and  I  will  instantly  put  myself  at  their  head."  This  was  a 
test  for  which  the   conspirators  were  not  prepared;   and, 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  431 

after  passing  a  few   days  in  London,  he  returned  to  the 
continent. 

The  remainder  of  his  life  is  a  melancholy  tissue  of  public 
and  private  sorrows ;  of  disappointed  hopes,  unrequited  affec- 
tion, trust  misplaced,  and  confidence  betrayed,  and  a  mind  so 
bruised  and  saddened  by  its  struggles  with  the  world,  that  self- 
oblivion  became  its  sole  relief.  We  know  of  nothing  more 
melancholy  than  the  contrast  which  the  following  little  sketch, 
which  we  translate  from  the  autobiography  of  Domenico  Corzi, 
offers  with  the  scenes  that  we  have  attempted  to  trace  in  the 
first  pages  of  the  present  paper. 

"  I  lived  two  years,"  says  he,  "  with  the  Prince  Charles  Edward.  All 
this  time  he  led  a  very  retired  life,  and  saw  nobody.  It  was  under  the 
last  Pope,  who  had  refused  to  acknowledge  his  title.  In  this  retirement, 
he  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  practising  music,  of  which  he 
was  enthusiastically  fond.  I  passed  the  evenings  with  him ;  he  played 
the  violoncello,  and  I  the  harp,  and  we  used  to  compose  little  pieces 
together.  But  these  lete-h-ttte  were  far  from  being  cheerful.  The 
apartment  was  hung  with  old  red  damask,  and  lighted  by  only  two 
tapers.  Upon  the  table  was  a  brace  of  pistols,  instruments  very  little  to 
my  taste,  which  he  would  take  up  from  time  to  time  to  examine,  and 
then  lay  them  down  again.  His  manners,  however,  were  always  mild, 
affable,  and  agreeable." 

In  this  manner  he  passed  the  last  years  of  his  life,  dividing 
his  time  between  Rome  and  Florence,  sometimes  mixing  in 
society,  and  at  others  living  in  absolute  seclusion,  but  preserv- 
ing to  the  end  so  grateful  a  remembrance  of  the  fidelity,  of 
which  he  had  received  such  striking  proofs  in  Scotland,  that  a 
Scottish  song  or  an  allusion  to  those  scenes,  never  failed  to 


432  CHAELES   EDWARD. 

call  forth  his  tears,  and  often  threw  him  into  fits.  And  thus 
he  sank  by  a  gradual  though  a  premature  decay,  till  at  length, 
abandoned  by  the  world  and  forgotten  of  all,  save  a  few  devoted 
followers,  whose  truth  held  out  to  the  last,  he  expired  at  Rome, 
on  the  31st  of  January,  1788. 

We  can  hardly  venture  to  draw  a  portrait  of  this  unhappy 
prince,  or  to  weigh  his  qualities  in  an  accurate  balance.  His 
public  career  was  too. brief  to  afford  room  for  the  full  devel- 
opment of  his  character,  and  his  private  life  so  much  embit- 
tered by  sorrow,  and  parts  of  it  are  still  enveloped  in  a  veil  of 
such  impenetrable  mystery,  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  come 
to  any  conclusion  which  shall  not  be  open  to  serious  objections. 
His  courage,  his  magnanimity,  his  generosity,  his  fortitude, 
his  humanity,  his  patience  in  the  hour  of  suffering,  and  his 
promptitude  and  self-command  in  the  midst  of  danger,  are 
qualities  which  none  can  dispute,  and  all  must  admire.  But 
the  liberality  of  his  principles  was  never  brought  to  the  test 
of  a  practical  application,  and  the  generous  sentiments  which 
he  professed  towards  his  political  adversaries  were  never 
subjected  to  the  perilous  trial  of  long-continued  prosperity. 
If  compared  with  his  immediate  opponent,  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  the  qualities  of  his  heart  appear  to  the  greatest 
advantage;  if  with  George,  his  enlightened  views  and  ele- 
vated sentiments  shine  out  with  the  purest  lustre.  On  a 
throne  he  might  have  lost  somewhat  of  the  vigor,  and  perhaps, 
too,  something  of  the  amiability  of  his  character ;  at  the  head 
of  his  troops,  his  energy  and  self-control  commanded  the 
respect  of  all,  and  his  kindness  and  affability  made  him  the 
idol  of  his  soldiers.  .  ..„      -        r 


CHARLES   EDWARD.  433 

Why  should  we  seek  to  go  farther,  or  darken  the  shadows 
upon  so  bright  a  picture  ?  There  are  minds  to  which  success 
is  a  necessity,  which  go  on  firmly,  brightly,  purely,  with  a 
constantly  increasing  elevation,  to  the  full  maturity  of  their 
development;  flowerets  which  expand  their  leaves  and  breathe 
out  their  odors  to  the  sun,  but  shrink  withering  and  scentless 
from  the  tempest.  And  do  those  who  love  to  dwell  upon 
faults  rather  than  virtues  know  what  it  is  to  miss  your  desti- 
ny;  —  to  cherish  a  hope  through  long  years,  to  dream  of  it 
by  night,  to  bless  the  returning  daylight  which  brings  you 
nearer  to  its  accomplishment,  to  direct  all  your  efforts,  train 
all  your  faculties,  for  this,  and  this  alone,  until  your  whole 
existence  is  absorbed  by  it,  and,  like  the  atmosphere  you 
breathe,  it  becomes  a  part  of  you  with  every  respiration ;  and 
then,  whether  prepared  or  unprepared,  whether  by  slow  de- 
grees or  by  a  sudden  blow,  be  deprived  of  it  forever ;  —  to 
look  around  you  and  see  all  desolate  and  dark;  to  turn  within 
and  find  a  pulseless,  rayless  void ;  to  live,  because  life  is  a 
necessity,  and  continues  to  have  its  duties,  even  when  it  has 
ceased  to  have  its  charms ;  but  to  protract  it  with  loathing, 
when  you  remember  that  it  might  have  been  a  blessing? 
Every  man  has  his  mission.  Upon  some  it  weighs  so  lightly, 
and  they  march  on  so  easily  and  unconsciously  towards  the 
fulfilment  of  it,  that  you  would  almost  accuse  them  of  living 
for  themselves  alone.  But  there  are  beings  of  a  more  earnest 
nature,  upon  whose  hearts  the  responsibilities  of  existence 
weigh  like  sorrow ;  and  if  you  ever  see  them  smile,  it  is  only 
when  they  feel  that  every  day  is  bringing  them  nearer  to  the 
accomplishment  of  their  destiny. 

37 


434  CHARLES    EDWARD. 

We  cannot  conclude  our  article  without  a  few  words  upon 
the  work  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
facts  upon  which  it  is  founded.  M.  Amedee  Pichot  has  long 
been  known  in  continental  literature,  as  the  editor  of  one  of 
those  clever  periodicals  which  reflect  with  so  much  truth  and 
vivacity  the  movement  of  French  intellect  in  the  various 
realms  of  thought.  But  to  American  readers  he  brings  a 
still  .higher  claim,  as  the  translator  of  Prescott's  Conquest  of 
Mexico.  It  was  during  a  tour  in  Scotland,  and  with  Waverly 
for  his  guide-book,  that  he  first  formed  the  idea  of  a  life  of 
Charles  Edward,  as  an  episode  of  Scottish  history.  The  can- 
vas grew  under  his  hands  as  he  wrote,  and  he  was  gradually 
led  to  draw  a  full  picture  of  the  long  rivalry  between  Scotland 
and  England.  The  first  edition  of  his  work  appeared  in  1830; 
that  which  we  have  cited  at  the  head  of  our  article  is  the 
fourth,  a  sufficient  proof  of  the  favor  with  which  it  has  been 
received.  Each  new  edition  contains  important  additions,  new 
documents,  drawn  from  their  resting-places  in  public  or  in 
private  archives,  where  they  had  lain  for  years  unregarded, 
and,  but  for  his  untiring  perseverance,  might  have  lain  there 
still.  During  this  interval,  other  writers  have  followed  him 
into  the  field  which  he  had  opened ;  Brown  and  Lord  Mahon 
in  England,  and  two  in  Germany.  But  as  he  was  the  first, 
so  he  continues  to  be  the  best ;  and  the  enthusiasm  which 
he  brought  to  the  beginning  of  his  task  seems,  at  the  end  of 
twenty  years,  to  be  as  bright  as  ever. 

A  work  composed  under  such  circumstances  must,  necessa- 
rily, be  original.  M.  Pichot's  idea  and  plan  are  his  own,  and 
the  execution  of  them  is  accurate  and  able.    The  state  of  par- 


CHARLES    EDWARD.  435 

ties,  the  popular  mind  as  manifested  in  the  popular  literature  of 
the  day,  all  the  great  questions  which  were  then  in  agitation, 
and  many  of  those  often  neglected  accessories  which  throw  so 
strong  a  collateral  light  upon  historical  events,  have  found  a 
place  in  his  volumes,  many  of  them  being  treated  with  skill, 
and  all  with  great  apparent  fidelity.  Though  far  from  believ- 
ing in  the  doctrine  of  divine  right,  he  is  a  warm  admirer  of 
his  hero ;  but  we  cannot  perceive  that  his  sympathies  have 
anywhere  given  a  false  coloring  to  his  narrative ;  and  that  man 
must  be  cold-hearted  indeed,  who  should  have  no  other  feel- 
ing than  that  of  common  interest  for  a  friend  of  twenty  years' 
standing.  If  we  were  disposed  to  look  for  faults  in  a  work  of 
so  much  merit,  we  should  say,  that  here  and  there  we  could 
have  wished  for  greater  fulness  of  detail,  somewhat  more  of 
earnestness  and  warmth  in  the  narrative,  and  of  vigor  and 
compression  in  the  style ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  the  fullest  and 
most  satisfactory  history  that  has  yet  appeared  of  this  interest- 
ing period. 


m:  ■  i 


SUPPLEMENT  TO  THE  HOPES  OP  ITALY. 


Es  hofft  auf  die  gerechte  Sache, 
Hofft  dasz  sein  treues  volk  erwache, 
Hofft  auf  des  grossen  Gottes  Rache 
Und  hat  den  Racher  nicht  verkannt. 

Koerner. 

V  veggio 
La  surger  nuovo  fummo  dal  sabbione. 

Divina  Commedia. 

Periculosae  plenum  opus  aleae 
Tractas,  et  incedis  per  ignes 
Suppositos  cineri  doloso. 

Horace. 


It  is  but  little  more  than  two  years  since  the  preceding 
pages  were  written,  and  yet,  during  that  short  interval,  almost 
every  assertion  which  they  contain  has  been  subjected  to  the 
severe  test  of  experience.  Every  throne  in  Italy  has  been 
shaken,  every  feeling  that  could  agitate  an  Italian  heart  has 
been  called  into  action,  and  events  have  been  crowded  together 
so  thickly,  that  we  are  still  dazzled  ana*  bewildered  by  their 
rapid  succession.  A  momentary  calm  has  succeeded  this  fear- 
ful troubling  of  the  waters  —  a  forced  and  unnatural  calm,  for 
the  Angel  still  hovers  above  them,  yet  while  the  crowd  stands 
waiting  his  return,  we  may  venture  to  look  around  us  and  see 


SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE  HOPES    OF   ITALY.  437 

what  wounds  have  been  healed  and  what  hearts  are  still  throb- 
bing with  anxious  expectation. 

Short  as  the  period  which  comprises  the  recent  events  in 
Italy  is,  it  must,  in  order  to  understand  it,  be  divided  into  three 
distinct  parts.  The  first  is  the  period  of  reform  by  govern- 
ment. The  second,  of  the  war  of  independence.  The  third, 
of  reform  by  the  governed. 

There  is  something,  perhaps,  in  the  first  period  which 
reminds  us  of  Pietro  Leopoldo  and  Tanucci  and  Dutillot. 
Reform  begins  at  the  top,  with  the  sovereign,  and  moves 
downwards  towards  the  people.  Public  sentiment  reaches 
the  throne,  making  sovereigns  feel  how  dangerous  it  is  to  let 
their  age  outrun  them.  They  look  around  them  and  see 
what  a  feeble  basis  their  power  rests  upon,  how  small  the 
chances  are  that  one  will  can  long  control  the  many,  without 
the  aid  of  some  other  principle  than  that  of  man's  instinct  to 
obey ;  how  impossible  it  is  to  close  up  all  the  avenues  of  light ; 
and  that  what  man  knows  to  be  his  birthright,  he  will  sooner 
or  later  claim.  But  it. furnishes  us  with  something  stronger 
than  a  mere  historical  paralellism,  which,  after  all,  would  be 
far  from  exact.  For  Pietro  Leopoldo  was  as  noble  in  heart 
as  in  mind,  while  history  has  not  yet  wiped  away  the  "  yellow 
tinge  of  remorse"  from  the  brow  of  Charles  Albert,*  or  con- 
firmed the  bright  promise  of  Pius  the  IX.  The  movement  of 
1847  was  the  legacy  of  1814,  and  the  sovereign  only  began 
when  he  saw  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  preventing  the 
people  from  beginning  for  him. 

Literature  is  the  exponent  of  the  public  mind,  and  the 

*  II  savoyardo  dai  rimorsi  giallo.  —  Giusti. 
37* 


438  SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

greatest  genius,  as  has  been  often  said,  is  always  more  or  less 
in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  his  age.  Now  if  this  be  true 
of  an  age,  it  is  still  more  so  of  a  nation ;  and  if  the  great 
mind  is  more  or  less  made  up  of  the  general  influences  that 
surround  it,  it  must  be  still  more  subject  to  those  special  influ- 
ences which  are  developed  in  the  daily  contaet  of  the  partic- 
ular world  in  which  it  lives.  Hence  the  healthy  action  of 
thought  and  all  its  efficiency  depend  upon  its  harmonizing  in 
its  internal  developments  with  its  external  manifestations; 
and  when  the  thinking  men  of  a  nation  look  one  way  and  its 
rulers  another,  it  is  easy  to  foresee  that  they  will  soon  wander 
into  very  different  paths. 

The  arbitrary  divisions  of  the  Congress  of  Vienna  and  its  ( 
high-handed  suppression  of  everything  which  bore  the  mark 
X)f  individual  or  national  liberty,  were  not  more  at  variance 
with  the  hearts  of  the  Italians  than  with  their  minds.  What 
their  feelings  told  them  to  be  insulting,  their  reason  taught 
them  to  be  unjust,  and  the  day  was  passed  when  time  could 
consecrate  an  injustice,  and  when  men  judged  power  by  its 
duration  rather  than  by  its  fitness  to  fulfil  the  conditions  of  its 
acceptance.  The  longer  it  lasted  the  more  hateful  it  became. 
The  mark  of  Cain  had  been  set  upon  it  at  its  origin,  and  nothing 
but  a  frank  and  unreserved  adoption  of  the  national  will  could 
wipe  that  mark  away. 

But  the  sovereign  had  no  such  intention.  His  power  was 
independent  of  public  sentiment.  He  had  never  acknowledged 
the  rights  of  the  people.  They  were  not  a  people  for  him, 
but  the  subjects  whom  the  divine  will,  manifested  in  the 
bayonet,  had  placed  at  his  disposal.     Every  attempt  to  in- 


SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY.  439 

fluence  the  sovereign,  was  rebellion ;  every  relaxation  of 
power,  a  gracious  concession.  Rights  were  privileges  that 
might  be  conceded  or  withdrawn,  and  law  an  emanation  of 
the  sovereign  will.  And  as  freedom  is  founded  upon  the  in- 
dividual's responsibility  to  his  Maker,  so  these  rulers,  with  a 
rigorous  and  undeniable  logic,  claimed  the  thoughts  of  the 
subject  as  the  natural  vassals  of  his  earthly  sovereign. 

Thus  the  political  and  the  intellectual  condition  of  Italy, 
the  internal  and  the  external  world,  were  at  variance.  Phi- 
losophy analyzed,  the  historian  narrated,  the  poet  embellished, 
and  all  concurred  to  show  that  far  the  greater  part  of  what 
was,  was  not  what  ought  to  be.  But  government  went  on  in 
its  old  routine  as  though  all  that  was,  was  not  only  right,  but 
was  to  last  forever.  And  thus  things  continued  till  the  death 
of  Gregory  XVI. 

There  have  been  many  solemn  moments  in  the  history  of 
the  papal  power,  but  never  was  there  one  more  solemn  than 
the  twenty-first  of  June,  1846.  The  conclave  had  been  short, 
yet  the  contest  had  been  severe ;  and  the  world  rejoiced 
at  the  tidings  that  a  liberal  pope  had  been  raised  to  the 
throne.  We  all  remember  the  first  months  of  his  reign. 
The  eagerness  with  which  each  day's  news  was  received, 
as  one  by  one  old  abuses  were  daily  swept  away.  We  all 
remember  with  what  hopes  we  began;  how  hope  became 
promise,  and  promise  ripened  into  reality.  We  remember, 
too,  with  what  a  cordial  confidence  all  sects  joined  in  applaud- 
ing the  papal  reformer,  and  with  what  a  thrill  of  rapture  men 
turned  their  eyes  once  more  to  the  consecrated  city.  We  all 
remember,  too,  how  hope  was  turned  to  doubt,  and  doubt  to 


440  SUPPLEMENT  TO  THE  HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

fear,  as  one  by  one  the  clouds  rose  up  before  us,  and  each  bright 
promise  faded  away. 

It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  the  reforms  at 
Naples  and  Turin.  The  first  were  drowned  in  blood,  the 
second  are  still  an  unsolved  problem.  But  in  these,  and  in  all, 
we  must  recognize  the  tardy  concessions,  which  the  spirit  of  a 
progressive  age  wrings  from  a  short-sighted  and  reluctant 
government.  That  they  came  at  last,  as  a  spontaneous  con- 
cession, matters  nothing.  It  was  but  the  fulfilment,  in  1846 
and  1847,  of  the  promises  of  1814  and  1821  and  1831,  and  a 
promise  deferred,  becomes  a  right,  whose  violation  is  always 
atoned  for  by  blood. 

Thus  while  the  movement  began  from  above,  it  was  but  in 
obedience  to  an  impulse  from  below.  Much  was  given,  but 
little  was  acknowledged.  Many  privileges  were  conceded,  but 
few  rights  were  recognized.  The  nation  was  called  upoa  to 
participate  in  the  acts  of  its  government,  but  that  government 
was  neither  the  creation,  nor  the  will  of  the  nation.  Where, 
then,  was  the  guarantee  ?  Where  the  pledge  that  what  one 
will  had  made,  would  not  be  unmade  by  another  ? 

But  there  was  one  power  in  Italy  which  could  not  make 
concessions. 

In  Piedmont,  in  Tuscany,  in  Naples,  at  Rome,  there  were 
at  least  national  associations  —  common  recollections,  a  com- 
mon history,  and  in  many  things,  a  common  interest.  The 
sovereign  and  the  people  spoke  the  same  language,  were 
nourished  in  the  same  literature,  their  minds  and  their  bodies 
were  formed  under  the  same  sky  and  shared,  in  some  degree, 
its  magic  influences.     But  there  was  one  throne  which  had 


SUPPLEMENT  TO  THE  HOPES  OP  ITALY.      441 

been  founded  in  treachery,  and  baptized  with  blood,  and  sus- 
tained by  every  art  and  every  refinement  of  oppression, 
which  spoke  in  the  harsh  accents  of  an  uncongenial  tongue, 
filled  every  street  and  square  with  the  repulsive  features  of  a 
hostile  race,  and  crowded  the  pages  of  its  history  with  a  record 
of  its  own  violence.  Romagnosi  and  Gioja,  and  the  generous 
hearted  Confalonieri,  and  the  gentle  Pellico !  What  names  to 
inscribe  upon  the  roll  of  a  prison !  How  many  a  noble  resolve 
has  been  formed  amid  the  clanking  of  fetters !  How  many  an 
overcharged  heart  has  sought  an  outlet  for  its  bitterness  in 
pages,  written,  like  the  Margherita  Pusterla,  by  the  dim  and 
vapory  light  of  the  dungeon  ! 

Dark  as  this  picture  may  appear,  there  is  no  exaggeration 
in  it.  I  speak  of  what  I  have  seen,  and  of  what  I  know.  I 
have  heard  the  tale  of  suffering  from  the  lips  of  the  sufferer, 
and  read  in  his  pallid  features  and  sunken  eye  the  traces  of 
that  iron  which  enters  into  the  soul.  For  mere  physical  suf- 
fering there  may  be  something  like  a  compensation.  If  a 
ruler  violates  the  laws  of  property  there  are  a  thousand  ways 
of  atonement,  however  gross  the  violation ;  but  for  the  vio- 
lated rights  of  the  mind,  there  is  no  atonement  and  no  com- 
pensation. A  tax  may  be  removed,  or  a  confiscated  estate 
restored.  But  what  years  and  what  labor  does  it  not  require 
to  remove  from  the  mind  the  benumbing  weight  of  oppression, 
or,  who,  when  its  vigor  has  withered  in  unnatural  repose,  can 
give  back  to  it  the  elasticity  and  the  hopes  of  youth  ?  It  is 
easy  for  men  who  have  never  borne  the  burden  to  talk  of  the 
advantages  of  order  and  the  blessings  of  peace;  but  what 
advantages  can  outweigh  the  rights  of  the  mind,  or  what 


4:42  SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

blessing  is  there  that  does  not  become  a  curse  when  it  is 
founded  upon  the  suppression  of  every  noble  thought,  every 
generous  aspiration,  condemning  the  father  to  torpid  inaction, 
and  the  son  to  an  etherization  of  conscience  and  of  intellect, 
which  deadens  the  sense  of  his  own  wrongs,  and  leaves  him 
no  perception  of  the  wrongs  of  others  ?  O  no !  if  patriotism 
be  not  an  idle  name,  if  hope  and  love  have  not  been  given  to 
us  in  vain,  if  that  beautiful  law  which  educes  happiness  from 
duty  and  admits  of  no  enjoyment  so  pure  as  that  which  we 
share  with  others,  be  not  a  mockery  of  our  Creator,  there  can 
be  no  language  too  strong  for  those  who  trifle  thus  wantonly 
with  holy  things,  and  deride  their  Maker  by  debasing  his 
image. 

In  Austrian  Lombardy  there  could  be  no  sincere  reform  ; 
but  could  there  be  any  in  Piedmont,  or  Tuscany,  or  Naples, 
or  Rome,  so  long  as  nearly  five  million  Italians  received  their 
laws  from  Vienna  ?  Could  Italy  be  free  without  being  inde- 
pendent, or  could  there  be  any  guarantee  for  a  freedom  that 
was  parcelled  out  among  separate  states,  without  any  common 
centre  or  common  policy?  This  question  had  long  been  fore- 
seen and  discussed  warmly.  The  first  step  in  reform  brought 
it  out  in  all  its  force.  Every  liberal  act  of  Pius  the  IX.  was 
a  tacit  condemnation  of  the  Austrian  administration  of  Lom- 
bardy, an  eloquent  appeal  to  the  heart  of  every  Lombard. 
Thus  the  two  powers  were  brought  into  a  kind  of  moral  col- 
lision, which  could  not  but  lead  sooner  or  later  to  an  open 
rupture.  But  would  the  pioneer  of  Italian  reform  become  the 
advocate  of  Italian  independence  ? 

The  connection  between  liberty  and  independence  seems, 


SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY.  443 

at  a  first  glance,  so  intimate,  that  we  are  almost  disposed  to 
look  upon  them  as  synonymous.  For  independence  holds  the 
same  relation  to  the  nation  which  liberty  does  to  the  indi- 
vidual. It  is  the  power  of  national  development  in  whatever 
manner  the  national  will  may  direct,  just  as  liberty  is  the 
individual's  right  of  developing  all  his  faculties  to  the  utmost 
extent  to  which  that  development  can  be  carried  without 
infringing  upon  the  equal  rights  of  others.  Hence  a  depend- 
ent nation  in  order  to  become  independent  must  possess  a 
certain  degree  of  liberty,  for  it  is  only  by  the  concurrence  of 
individual  wills  that  its  independence  can  be  won.  And  this 
once  secured,  the  very  impulse  of  this  concurrent  action  di- 
rected to  a  great  object,  surviving,  by  a  deep-rooted  law  of  our 
nature,  the  accomplishment  of  its  immediate  purpose  will, 
sooner  or  later,  lead  to  liberty. 

And  liberty  must,  in  the  same  manner,  sooner  or  later,  lead 
to  independence.  For  the  development  of  the  individual 
will  must  soon  expand  beyond  merely  conventional  bounds, 
and  claim  for  itself,  when  acting  in  concurrence  with  the 
will  of  others,  the  same  freedom  of  developing  itself  as  part 
of  a  great  body,  for  all  the  purposes  which  the  healthy  de- 
velopment of  that  body  may  require,  which  it  enjoyed  as  an 
individual  for  all  the  purposes  of  healthy  individual  develop- 
ment. 

But  the  degree  of  liberty  required  for  the  attainment  of 
independence  is  small.  It  may  extend  to  a  very  few  objects 
and  exclude  all  others.  It  may  be  confined  to  a  particular 
class,  or  even  to  a  limited  portion  of  it.  For  it  is  as  much 
the  interest  of  the  sovereign  as  of  his  subjects,  and  in  some 


444  SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES    OP  ITALY. 

stages  of  social  progress,  more  so.  And  yet  so  delusive  is 
human  vanity,  that  men  often  fight  as  hard  for  a  name  as  for 
a  reality,  and  feel  as  much  pride  in  the  triumph  of  a  prince  as 
of  a  nation.  Though  I  am  wrong,  perhaps,  in  calling  this  a 
delusion  of  vanity,  and  not  rather  one  of  those  great  princi- 
ples which  move  men  and  masses,  and  bring  about,  by  our 
weakness,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  what  our  strength  could  never 
have  accomplished. 

But  in  Italy  the  two  questions  were  necessarily  and  inex- 
tricably mingled.  Sound  ideas  of  freedom  had  been  spread 
so  widely  that  the  Italians  could  not  look  upon  their  actual 
condition  without  indignation,  and  they  felt  the  curse  of  their 
divisions  too  deeply  not  to  be  convinced  that  their  only  hope 
of  permanent  freedom  must  be  placed  in  union.  The  war 
of  Lombardy  was  a  war  of  independence,  and  the  very  first 
stroke  of  the  tocsin  in  Milan  sent  a  thrill  through  the  veins 
of  every  true-hearted  Italian.  From  Calabria  to  the  Alps, 
from  the  crowded  city  to  the  quiet  valleys  of  the  Apennines, 
from  Turin  and  Florence  and  Bologna  and  Rome  and  Naples, 
the  signal  spread  like  the  gleams  of  a  watch-fire.  Forth 
came  the  volunteers  of  Rome  and  those  devoted  students  of 
Pisa,  who  were  never  to  return  again  to  its  classic  halls,  and 
Pepe  yet  fresh  from  his  exile,  and  Garibaldi  from  his  wild 
and  adventurous  career.  There  were  ardent  youths  there, 
with  all  the  fervor  of  youthful  hope'  in  their  bosoms,  and 
young  martyrs  of  liberty  who  gave  with  willing  hearts  to  duty, 
what  they  had  once  given  to  hope,  and  earnest  men  who  had 
eaten  in  sickness  and  in  sorrow  the  bitter  bread  of  exile. 
There  was  but  one  heart  amongst  them  and  but  one  will ; 


SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY.  445 

and  when  that  banner,  which  they  had  so  often  worshipped 
in  their  dreams,  spread  its  broad  folds  above  them,  with 
"Italy  and  Union"  inscribed  on  every  fold,  they  felt  that  they 
were  still  men,  and  their  country  once  more  a  nation.  Why 
then  did  they  fail  ? 

I  have  said  that  the  question  of  national  independence  had 
long  been  foreseen  and  discussed  warmly.  All  parties  had 
agreed  in  making  it  the  starting  point  for  their  future  hopes,, 
and  recognized  it  as  the  inevitable  prelude  to  the  regeneration 
of  Italy.  But  where  was  the  contest  to  begin  ?  Under  what 
auspices  was  it  to  be  carried  on  ? 

The  position  of  the  king  of  Sardinia  seemed  to  point  him 
out  as  the  natural  guardian  of  Italian  independence.  Three 
of  the  great  passages  of  the  Alps  were  under  his  command, 
and  one  of  the  great  seaports  of  the  Peninsula.  His  rich 
and  compact  kingdom  on  the  left  flank  of  Lombardy,  and 
within  a  short  march  of  Pavia  and  Milan,  seemed  to  offer  him 
every  advantage  for  concentrated  and  vigorous  action.  The 
old  traditions  of  his  race  had  taught  him  the  importance  of 
living  on  his  guard,  and  his  army  was  one  of  the  best  ap- 
pointed in  Europe.  Hence  northern  Italy  naturally  looked 
towards  Piedmont  for  a  leader  in  the  contest  of  which  Lom- 
bardy would  necessarily  be  the  theatre,  and  perhaps  the 
victim. 

But  there  were  many  things  in  Charles  Albert's  character 
to  check  enthusiasm,  even  where  they  did  not  awaken  mis- 
trust. The  remembrance  of  his  early  career  was  still  fresh 
in  every  mind,  and  his  blind  submission  to  the  church  was 
far  from  effacing  the  stain  of  treachery  to  his  youthful  com- 

38 


446  SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

panions.  He  had  fostered  literature  and  rewarded  literary 
men,  but  nowhere  was  the  rigor  of  censorship  carried  farther 
than  in  his  dominions,  and  on  no  frontier  were  books  scru- 
tinized more  cautiously.  Generous  impulses,  some  sudden 
effervescence  of  Italian  feeling,  no  one  could  deny  him.  But 
what  proofs  had  he  given  of  that  unbending  will,  which  moulds 
the  discordant  elements  of  revolution  to  harmonious  action,  or 
of  that  calm  and  sound  judgment,  which  knows  when  to  act 
and  when  to  wait  ? 

In  northern  Italy,  these  considerations,  though  not  without 
their  weight,  were  overborne  by  the  nature  and  the  nearness 
of  the  danger.  But  south  of  the  Apennine  they  spread  wider 
and  took  deeper  root.  There  the  question  of  independence 
seemed  a  question  of  union.  Tuscany,  Rome  and  Naples 
formed  three  great  states,  neither  of  which  could  willingly 
merge  its  individuality  in  the  supremacy  of  the  other,  while 
two  of  them  were  too  feeble,  and  the  third  too  far  off,  to  lead 
in  a  general  movement  against  Austria.  Tradition,  reason, 
geographical  position,  every  consideration  which  could  move 
the  statesman  or  the  mass,  seemed  to  point  to  a  confederacy 
as  the  only  way  of  uniting  this  scattered  strength  for  one  great 
and  effectual  effort.  And  here  a  beautiful  conception  was 
allowed,  (in  despite  of  history,)  to  take  in  many  minds  the 
place  of  the  sterner  lessons  of  reason. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  continental  literature  of  the  last 
century  was  deeply  tinctured  with  infidelity,  and  that  many, 
if  not  most,  of  the  leaders  of  the  French  revolution  were 
infidels.  Eloquent  voices  were  raised  from  time  to  time  in 
defence  of  Christianity,  and  even  those  who  opposed  the  theo- 


SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY.  447 

logical  tenets  of  the  Bible  with  most  acrimony,  acknowledged 
the  purity  of  its  moral  doctrines.  But  the  process  of  decom- 
position was  still  too  active,  and  that  body,  which  had  called 
itself  the  representative  of  those  doctrines,  was  too  closely 
allied  with  the  crying  abuses  of  social  organization,  to  allow 
men  to  distinguish  calmly  between  the  principle  and  its  abuse. 
With  the  "  Genie  du  Christianisme "  a  new  era  began.  A 
vigorous  mind,  a  rich  and  vivid  imagination,  a  heart  open  to 
all  tender  emotions  and  generous  impulses,  had  boldly  as- 
sumed a  task  which  had  been  entrusted,  till  then,  to  dry 
learning  and  unimpassioned  dissertation.  The  effects  of 
Chateaubriand's  eloquent  appeal  were  not  apparent  at  first, 
but  when  the  Bourbons  came  back  with  the  traditions  of  the 
old  hierarchy,  and  a  new  literature  sprang  up  under  the  influ- 
ence of  new  feelings,  it  was  seen  how  strong  a  hold  it  had 
taken  of  the  public  mind.  The  reaction  was  communicated 
to  Italy.  The  great  lights  of  the  age  were  fading.  Foscolo 
was  in  exile.  Monti  had  never  found  again  the  inspiration 
of  the  Basville  and  the  Mascheroniana.  Giordani  was  wast- 
ing his  eloquence  in  high  wrought  panegyrics  and  elaborate 
trifles.  But  a  new  race  had  grown  up  amid  the  wars  and 
revolutions  of  the  last  twenty  years,  and  were  standing  ready 
to  take  their  places.  They  had  never  shared  the  hopes  of 
their  predecessors,  and  could  not  enter  into  the  bitterness  of 
their  disappointment.  The  past,  from  which  they  were  sepa- 
rated by  the  gulf  of  revolution,  was  not  a  stern  remembrance 
for  them,  and  their  hopes  sprang  from  their  own  present,  so 
different  from  that  of  their  fathers.  The  romantic  literature 
of  Germany  had  half  supplanted  the  classic  traditions  of  their 


448  SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

own  sqliool.  A  new  world  seemed  to  open  before  them  with 
new  feelings  and  new  influences ;  and  that  chord,  which,  though 
often  long  silent  in  the  human  heart,  is  never  wholly  unstrung, 
was  all  ready  to  vibrate  to  the  first  hand  that  should  touch  it 
aright. 

And  the  hand  was  there.  Among  the  writers  whose  youth 
had  been  passed  under  the  republic  and  kingdom  of  Italy, 
was  Alexander  Manzoni,  a  grandson  of  the  great  publicist 
Beccaria.  In  his  youth  he  had  published  two  short  poems 
which,  although  they  were  far  from  giving  any  indications  of 
the  course  that  he  was  one  day  to  pursue,  were  still  of  decided 
merit.  But  his  delicate  and  sensitive  nature  soon  revolted  from 
the  uncongenial  world  in  which  it  had  first  been  thrown,  and 
seeking  its  inspiration  in  a  purer  source,  produced  those  five 
lyrics  which  have  raised  the  sacred  hymn  to  so  high  a  rank 
in  Italian  literature.  Three  of  these  are  scarcely  more  than 
simply  beautiful ;  but  in  the  "  Nome  di  Maria "  there  is  an 
earnest  tenderness  which  goes  directly  to  the  heart,  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  fourth,  the  Pentecost,  is  sustained  perfectly 
from  beginning  to  end,  in  imagery  and  thought  and  language, 
and,  in  parts,  becomes  truly  sublime.  Twenty  years  earlier 
these  poems,  with  all  their  beauty,  would  hardly  have  awaken- 
ed an  echo ;  but  now  they  came  like  a  spring  shower,  calling 
forth  freshness  and  sweet  odors  wherever  it  falls.  Thus 
placed,  from  the  very  first,  at  the  head  of  a  new  school,  Man- 
zoni girded  himself  manfully  to  the  task.  In  an  elaborate 
dissertation  he  defended  the  ethics  of  Catholicism  against  the 
severe  charges  which  Sismondi  had  brought  against  them  in 
the  concluding  chapter  of  his  Italian  republics.     In  a  tragedy 


SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE  HOPES   OF  ITALY.  449 

of  great  beauty,  he  consecrated  the  temporal  power  of  the 
Holy  See,  and  prepared  the  way  for  a  wider  diffusion  of  its 
spiritual  supremacy.  In  the  Promessi  Sposi,  a  work  for 
every  eye  and  every  heart,  he  drew  a  new  ideal  of  self-denial 
and  penance  and  devotion,  and  surrounded  the  mitre  and  the 
cowl  with  a  halo  so  pure,  that  the  hardest  heart  would  soften 
in  its  glow.  And  confirming  by  argument  the  doctrines 
which  he  had  already  embellished  by  the  charms  of  verse, 
he  attacked,  in  a  disquisition  of  great  learning  and  vigor,  all 
those  views  concerning  the  real  nature  of  the  Frankish  inva- 
sion, and  the  fall  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Lombards,  which  had 
been  accepted  as  established  facts  by  almost  every  historian, 
from  the  skeptical  Florentine,  to  the  patient  and  devout 
Muratori. 

In  all  of  these  works,  whether  directly  or  indirectly, 
whether  as  an  avowed  object  or  an  ingenious  deduction,  the 
peculiar  tenets  of  Catholicism  are  set  forth  under  the  most 
alluring  colors.  The  ceremonies  of  the  Holy  week,  so  solemn 
and  impressive  in  themselves,  become  doubly  so  when  asso- 
ciated with  the  solemn  and  impressive  verses  of  "  the  sacred 
hymns."  If  any  one  doubt  it,  let  him  repeat  the  opening 
stanzas  of  the  "  Passion,"  or  one  of  those  Friday  mornings, 
when  such  an  unearthly  calm  seems  to  sink  down  on  the 
crowded  city  —  when  every  gay  sight  and  sound  are  sup- 
pressed—  when  the  crowd  moves  on  silently  towards  the 
church  to  which  no  bell  calls  them  —  while  the  undecked 
altar  and  silent  organ,  the  subdued  tones  of  the  priest,  and 
that  deep  lugubrious  chant,  carry  you  back  with  such  irresisti- 
ble force  to  the  awful  scenes  of  which  they  are  the  symbol, 

38* 


450  SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

The  monastic  virtues,  which  you  might  laugh  at  in  a  common 
man,  rise  into  sublimity  in  the  pure  and  noble-hearted  Padre 
Cristoforo.  How  beautiful  does  religion  seem  in  Frederic 
Borromeo  —  how  natural  the  dependence  of  the  untaught 
layman  upon  the  devoted  servant  of  the  altar — how  just  that 
control,  which  he,  whose  life  is  dedicated  to  God,  claims 
over  the  heart  overburthened  and  bewildered  by  the  cares 
and  passions  of  the  world !  The  pope,  too,  who  had  so  long 
been  regarded  as  the  chief  cause  of  the  divisions  of  Italy, 
comes  forward  as  the  natural  protector  of  the  native  Italian, 
against  the  oppression  of  his  foreign  invader.  It  was  as  pro- 
tector of  the  purity  of  the  Catholic  faith  that  he  had  opposed 
so  firmly  the  aggressions  of  the  heretic  Lombards;  and  nowhere 
does  he  appear  with  so  becoming  a  majesty,  as  when  he  rises 
thus  boldly  as  the  champion  of  the  united  interests  of  Italy 
and  of  the  Church.  Never  had  Catholicism  been  painted  in 
more  enticing  forms. 

Manzoni's  life,  too,  was  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  doc- 
trines which  he  taught  —  pure,  earnest,  gentle,  and  true.  It 
was  natural  that  his  influence  should  spread  widely.  Catho- 
licism has  taken  a  deep  hold  of  the  Italian  mind.  It  is 
written  on  every  page  of  Italian  history.  It  has  furnished 
poetry  with  its  choicest  images,  and  art  with  its  noblest  in- 
spirations. You  find  it  inextricably  interwoven  with  the 
Divina  Commedia,  and  imprinted  in  indelible  characters  upon 
the  canvas  of  Raphael.  It  holds  out  to  you  its  hospitable 
hand  from  the  wild  passes  of  the  mountain,  and  sweetly 
greets  your  bewildered  footsteps  with  its  silent  shrine  amid 
the  deep  recesses  of  the  forest      Day  would  dawn  upon 


SUPPLEMENT   TO    THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY.  451 

you  unhallowed  without  its  matin-bell,  and  twilight  lose  half 
its  glow  with  the  evening  hymn  to  the  virgin.  Had  Man- 
zoni's  aim  been  no  higher  than  mere  literary  fame,  the  path 
that  he  chose  was  the  surest  and  best ;  but  much  as  I  differ 
from  him  in  doctrine,  I  could  not  for  a  moment  call  in 
doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  convictions  and  the  purity  of  his 
motives. 

The  doctrines  so  forcibly  illustrated,  and  embellished  with 
so  much  beauty  by  Manzoni,  were  adopted  by  Cantu  in  his 
universal  history,  and  interwoven  with  the  broadest  views  of 
human  destiny.  But  the  severe  Muse  of  history  tore  away 
with  an  unsparing  hand,  the  veil  that  hung  so  gracefully 
around  her  gentler  sister,  and  the  exclusive  tendencies  which 
are  lost  in  the  poet,  come  out  in  all  their  force  in  the  histori- 
an. The  middle  ages  was  the  brilliant  period  of  the  history 
of  the  church,  for  there  she  appears  as  tlfe  advocate  of  hu- 
manity, opening  with  one  hand  an  asylum  to  the  oppressed, 
and  with  the  other,  sternly  repelling  the  oppressor.  It  is  in 
this  contest  between  brute  force  and  moral  power,  that  the 
Catholic  historian  finds  his  favorite  scenes,  and  the  deep 
interest  which  the  study  of  that  once  neglected  period  has 
awakened  in  our  day,  is  closely  connected  with  the  great 
Catholic  reaction. 

Yet  both  history  and  poetry  might  still  have  left  somewhat 
too  vague  and  indefinite  in  their  lessons,  had  they  not  found 
an  ally  and  an  exponent  in  philosophy.  There  is  certainly 
something  very  grand  in  the  Catholic's  conception  of  the 
church.  Wherever  we  turn  in  the  physical  world,  we  are 
struck  with  the  varied  and  ever  changing  aspect  of  things, 


■452  SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

and  yet  each  new  step  in  science  brings  to  light  some  simple 
law  which  explains  the  most  glaring  contradictions,  and  re- 
veals in  their  discordant  elements  a  deep-rooted  and  compre- 
hensive unity.  And  in  human  action  it  is  the  same.  Men 
start  from  the  same  point  and  go  to  a  common  end,  but  by 
means  as  various  as  the  minds  that  devise  them.  And  the 
life  of  nations  is  but  a  multiplied  life  of  the  individual.  Each 
chasing  its  own  phantom,  buoyed  by  its  own  hopes,  strug- 
gling against  its  own  sorrows,  and  it  is  only  when  some  great 
phase  has  been  completed,  that  we  can  see  how  each  and  all, 
with  their  varied  hopes  and  ambitions  and  contrasts  of  indi- 
vidual will,  have  been  working  for  the  accomplishment  of 
some  single  end,  the  development  of  some  great  principle, 
which  comprises  in  a  simple  law  the  results  of  their  own 
lives,  and  serves  as  a  starting  point  for  their  posterity.  Now 
this  law  of  unity,  which  both  the  moral  and  the  physical 
world  obey,  and  the  one  often  as  unconsciously  as  the  other, 
is  a  direct  consequence  of  the  unity  of  the  divine  will.  There 
are  no  oppositions,  no  contrasts  in  God.  His  wisdom  is  unity 
of  perception.  His  omnipotence  is  unity  of  thought;  and 
whatever  flows  from  him,  bears  with  it  the  indelible  impress 
of  his  unifying  power.  But  it  is  only  by  indistinct  glimpses 
that  man  can  see  this  unity,  and  the  proudest  discoveries  of 
science  are  but  an  imperfect  revelation' of  subordinate  laws, 
from  which  we  are  ascending,  by  slow  and  painful  steps,  to- 
wards a  fuller  perception  of  the  great  law  on  which  they  all 
repose.  Thus  is  opened  to  us  in  the  physical  world  the  ex- 
haustless  field  of  natural  science,  where  man  may  task  his 
skill  to  the  utmost  without  any  other  guide  than  the  results 


SUPPLEMENT   TO    THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY.  453 

of  his  own  discoveries.  There  is  ample  room,  too,  in  many 
of  the  social  sciences  for  ingenious  speculation,  which,  from 
the  ready  test  which  is  always  at  hand  to  prove  them,  can 
never  lead  us  far  astray.  But  there  is  a  science  in  which 
indifference  is  a  crime  and  doubt  a  blasphemy,  and  whose 
unguided  speculation,  however  ingenious,  or  however  sincere, 
may  lead  to  fatal  errors.  The  same  power  which  made  the 
laws  of  the  physical  world  a  revelation  of  science,  made  these 
laws  of  our  moral  nature  the  revelation  of  his  will.  Would 
he  then  leave  us  entangled  by  our  own  doubt,  and  hesitating 
from  our  own  shortsightedness,  without  some  visible  repre- 
sentation of  that  will  to  reprove  our  errors  and  encourage  us 
when  right? 

This  visible  representation  is  the  church,  our  guide  and 
our  judge,  divine  by  institution,  though  human  in  form,  un- 
changeable and  unchanged,  while  all  around  it  is  a  prey  to 
never  ceasing  revolution,  and  preserving,  amid  this  endless 
conflict  of  opinion,  the  same  doctrines,  the  same  promise,  the 
same  will.  Therefore,  nothing  can  be  true  which  does  not 
harmonize  with  the  teachings  of  the  church,  and  nothing  just, 
which  opposes  her  will.  Raised,  by  the  nature  of  her  office, 
above  all  worldly  concerns,  she  only  takes  note  of  them  in 
their  connection  with  those  spiritual  interests  which  are  her 
special  care.  Human  will  cannot  prevail  against  her.  Hu- 
man passion  falls  powerless  before  her ;  born  amid  persecu- 
tion, nourished  by  martyrdom,  sole  refuge  of  civilization  in  its 
day  of  trial,  its  only  guide  in  the  days  of  its  brightest  promise, 
sublime  manifestation  of  the  divine  unity,  her  blessing  is  peace, 
and  her  pardon  eternal  life. 


454  SUPPLEMENT   TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

Such,  in  theory,  at  least,  is  the  Catholic  conception  of  the 
church,  and  nothing  could  he  more  natural  than  that  men, 
who  entertained  these  exalted  views,  should  consider  it  as 
one  of  the  greatest  privileges  of  Italy  that  its  residence  should 
have  been  fixed  there.  This  transformation  of  the  temporal 
sovereignty  of  the  Caesars,  to  the  spiritual  supremacy  of  the 
popes,  has  been  a  favorite  theme  with  the  Guelphs  of  all 
ages,  and  often  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  national  independence. 
When,  therefore,  the  progress  of  national  feeling  had  gone  so 
far  as  to  suppress  in  many  minds  those  old  local  animosities, 
which  had  been  the  greatest  obstacle  to  the  concentration  of 
the  whole  strength  of  the  Peninsula  for  one  great  object,  the 
partisans  of  the  church  naturally  turned  to  Rome  for  that 
guidance  which  men,  who  had  read  the  past  more  thought- 
fully, sought  in  Piedmont,  or  in  a  general  confederation.  And 
thus  arose  the  party  of  the  new  Guelphs,  of  which  Manzoni 
was  the  poet,  and  Gioberti  the  philosopher. 

It  is  seldom  that  a  philosophical  writer  obtains  such  sudden 
and  brilliant  success  as  Gioberti.  He  wrote  in  exile,  and  no 
one  could  suspect  him  of  servility.  He  took  Catholic  unity 
for  his  starting-point,  and  yet  no  voice  has  been  raised  more 
firmly  against  arbitrary  power.  He  met  boldly  the  most 
intricate  and  painful  questions  of  human  destiny,  and  yet 
never  faltered  in  his  submission  and  faith.  He  had  pages 
of  glowing  eloquence  for  the  young  enthusiast  of  liberty, 
and  thoughts  of  deep  devotion  for  the  humble  worshipper  at 
the  altar.  His  style,  too,  was  firm  and  manly,  and  always 
pure,  rigorously  Italian,  and  often  rising  to  the  highest  elo- 
quence. 


SUPPLEMENT  TO   THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY.  455 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  favorable  to  the  views  of 
the  new  Guelphs,  than  the  early  reforms  of  Pius  IX.,  which 
seemed  to  confirm  all  that  they  had  said  of  the  real  nature  of 
the  papal  power.  But  his  example  was  promptly  followed 
by  Charles  Albert,  who  gave  even  stronger  guaranties  of  his 
liberal  intentions  than  the  pope  had  ventured  to  give  in  the 
outset.  Thus,  when  the  contest  began,  the  two  champions 
were  nearly  on  an  equal  footing,  and  each  party  could  appeal 
with  equal  confidence  to  the  acts  as  well  as  to  the  promises 
of  its  leader. 

But  no  sooner  was  the  standard  of  independence  raised 
in  Lombardy,  than  it  became  evident  that  Charles  Albert 
expected  the  crown  of  Lombardy  as  his  reward.  He  was 
willing  to  fight  for  Italian  nationality,  but  only  as  the  ac- 
knowledged head  of  the  nation ;  and  while  the  negotiations, 
which  were  to  put  the  crown  upon  his  brow,  were  pending,  the 
enthusiastic  impulse  which  had  driven  the  Austrians  from 
Milan  to  Verona  was  allowed  to  die  away,  and  the  golden 
moment  was  lost. 

The  pope,  too,  came  forward  boldly  at  the  first  signal  of 
resistance.  His  feelings  as  an  Italian  had  been  wounded 
deeply  by  Austrian  arrogance,  and  the  disapprobation  with 
which  his  liberalism  had  been  met  by  the  court  of  Vienna, 
had  stung  to  the  quick  his  pride  as  a  leader  of  reform. 
When  the  Austrian  soldiers  and  half-armed  citizens  first  met 
in  deadly  strife  in  the  streets  of  Pavia,  "  You  should  have 
clad  yourself  in  your  holy  vestments,"  said  he,  in  a  letter  to 
the  bishop,  "  and,  putting  yourself  at  the  head  of  your  clergy, 
have  taken  your  stand  between  your  flock  and  their  destroy- 


456      SUPPLEMENT  TO  THE  HOPES  OF  ITALY. 

ers."  But  when  the  revolt  became  an  open  revolution,  and 
the  temporal  sovereign  of  Rome  was  called  upon  to  declare 
war  against  the  first  of  his  spiritual  subjects,  the  old  les- 
son of  history  was  repeated  anew,  and  Italy  was  told  again, 
what  she  had  often  been  told  before,  that  the  conscience  of 
a  pope  and  a  prince  cannot  lodge  in  the  same  bosom. 
Charles  Albert  failed  from  his  eagerness  to  stipulate  his 
reward  before  he  had  won  it ;  the  pope,  because  the  spiritual 
sovereign,  did  not  dare  to  perform  the  duties  of  an  Italian 
prince. 

And  now  another  party  appeared,  which,  though  numerous 
from  the  beginning  and  well  organized,  had  hitherto  kept 
itself  in  the  shade.  While  kings  and  princes  were  foremost 
on  the  scene,  there  was  little  else  for  them  to  do  but  to  follow 
the  movement  of  events  and  bide  their  time.  But  when  roy- 
alty, with  all  the  resources  of  an  organized  government  at  its 
command,  had  failed  so  signally,  it  was  natural  that  they 
should  turn  from  a  selfish  prince  and  a  tottering  throne,  to  the 
only  true  source  of  legitimate  power.  The  day  has  not  yet 
come  when  the  history  of  republicanism  in  Italy  can  be  written 
in  full.  There  are  still  too  many  personal  feelings  connected 
with  it,  too  many  interests  at  stake. 

Had  Charles  Albert  succeeded,  it  would  probably  have 
accepted  independence  and  a  constitution  as  sufficient  for  the 
times,  and  have  contented  itself  in  Piedmont  and  Lombardy 
with  its  natural  guardianship  of  the  rights  of  the  people. 
Had  Pius  the  IX.  joined  frankly  and  sincerely  in  the  war  of 
independence,  it  would  scarcely  have  asked  for  anything  in 
Rome  beyond  a  liberal  constitution  and  the  secularization  of 


SUPPLEMENT    TO   THE   HOPES   OF   ITALY.  457 

government.  But  there  was  something  more  than  incompe- 
tency in  Charles  Albert's  abandonment  of  the  Milanese,  and 
a  deeper  motive  in  the  ministry  of  Rossi,  than  a  simple  con- 
solidation of  power.  It  is  sad,  indeed,  to  think  of  what  might 
have  been,  if  the  king  of  Sardinia  had  acted  with  singleness 
of  purpose,  and  then  to  look  on  what  is.  There  would  have 
been  but  one  banner  from  the  Alps  to  the  Adriatic.  There 
would  have  been  constitutional  governments  in  every  state  — 
there  would  have  been  education  for  every  class  —  there 
would  have  been  a  free  field  for  every  species  of  talent,  and 
abundant  reward  for  every  form  of  industry.  With  these, 
republicanism,  confident  of  the  future,  would,  for  the  present, 
have  been  satisfied ;  and,  meanwhile,  the  work  of  political  edu- 
cation would  have  gone  on,  silently  preparing  those  results, 
which  human  passion  may  retard  for  a  time,  but  can  never 
wholly  prevent. 

I  have  already  said,  that,  at  the  first  appearance  of  the 
troubles  in  Lombardy,  the  pope  had  openly  taken  the  part  of 
his  countrymen.  Surprise  was  the  feeling  naturally  excited  by 
his  subsequent  hesitations,  and  it  was  long  before  men  could 
convince  themselves,  that  he,  who  had  been  the  first  to  give 
the  signal  of  reform,  should  be  the  first  also  to  shrink  from 
its  inevitable  consequences.  But  this  state  of  things  could 
not  last  long.  Hesitation  soon  excited  suspicions,  which  were 
strengthened  by  an  injudicious  word  and  some  ill-conceived 
attempts  at  reaction,  and  fully  confirmed,  when  the  appoint- 
ment of  Rossi  placed  at  the  head  of  affairs  an  acknowledged 
disciple  of  the  doctrinal  school  of  France.  The  new  minister 
entered  boldly  upon  his  course  of  reaction,  laughed  at  the 

89 


458  SUPPLEMENT    TO    THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY. 

popular  expressions  of  discontent,  openly  condemned  the  war 
of  independence,  told  his  countrymen  with  imperturbable 
effrontery  that  the  time  to  take  their  place  among  the  nations 
was  not  yet  come,  and  diligently  prepared  himself  to  suppress 
by  cannon  and  bayonet  the  slightest  manifestation  of  the  pop- 
ular will.  The  indignation  of  the  Romans  could  be  restrained 
no  longer.  In  a  moment  of  desperate  resolve,  the  minister 
was  slain  —  a  crime,  which,  but  for  the  bitterness  of  the  pro- 
vocation, and  the  greater  personal  risk  of  the  criminal,  would 
deserve  to  be  classed  with  the  legal  assassination  of  Blum, 
and  the  cold-blooded  murder  of  Bathiany.  There  was  still 
a  chance  of  safety  for  the  pope.  His  strength  lay  in  his 
weakness.  A  frank  acceptation  of  the  consequences  of  the 
movement  which  he  himself  had  provoked,  would  have  still 
preserved  him  a  controlling  influence ;  or,  a  martyrlike  re- 
signation would  have  awakened  the  sympathies  of  the  whole 
Christian  world.  Alexander  VI.  would  have  temporized  and 
conquered.  Pius  VII.  would  have  folded  his  arms  and  sought 
council  and  resignation  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Too  little  of 
a  statesman  to  use  his  temporal  arms  with  efficiency,  too  little 
of  an  ecclesiastic  to  employ  his  natural  arms  of  patience  and 
resignation,  Pius  IX.  fled  from  his  palace  in  the  disguise  of  a 
servant,  took  refuge  with  a  king,  yet  reeking  from  the  slaugh- 
ter of  his  own  subjects,  and  with  a  pen  scarcely  dry  from 
tracing  that  blind  refusal  to  join  in  the  war  against  the  enemy 
of  his  native  land,  drew  up  an  appeal  to  the  bayonets  of 
Catholic  Europe.  And  they  came,  Austria  and  Naples  and 
Spain  from  beyond  the  sea,  and,  worse  than  all,  the  sullied 
banners  of  France.     Many  a  long  year  had  passed  since  Eu- 


SUPPLEMENT   TO    THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY.  459 

rope  had  witnessed  a  spectacle  so  degrading  as  the  French 
invasion  of  Rome.  Austria  was  pledged,  by  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation,  to  support,  at  every  hazard,  the  divine  rights 
of  the  sovereign.  Contradiction  and  treachery  could  excite 
no  surprise  in  the  king  of  Naples.  Spain,  long  excluded  by 
her  own  troubles  from  a  part  in  foreign  affairs,  would  naturally 
embrace  so  favorable  an  opportunity  for  resuming  her  place  in 
the  general  concerns  of  Europe.  But  that  the  government  of 
republican  France  should  thus  basely  repudiate  the  principle 
to  which  it  owed  its  own  existence,  was  a  crime  which  no 
plea  of  expediency  could  palliate,  no  pretext  of  promise  or  of 
treaties  could  justify,  and  of  which  no  errors  of  its  antagonist 
and  no  success  of  its  own  could  wipe  away  the  stain. 

The  sequel  is  well  known.  In  spite  of  the  firmness  of  the 
Triumvirs,  and  the  heroic  defence  of  the  Romans,  Rome  was 
taken,  the  republican  government  forcibly  suppressed,  the 
restoration  of  the  pope  unconditionally  proclaimed.  Tuscany 
had  already  fallen  under  Austrian  bayonets,  Venice,  after  un- 
exampled sacrifices,  was  compelled  to  open  her  gates  to  her 
detested  masters,  and  the  blindest  reaction  was  triumphant  in 
Sicily  and  Naples.  Where,  then,  after  this  long  array  of 
sufferings  and  sacrifice,  of  all  that  the  heart  has  of  noblest 
and  the  human  mind  of  most  powerful,  where  are  the  hopes 
of  Italy? 

First  of  all,  a  definite  line  has  been  drawn  between  pro- 
gress and  reaction,  with  the  people  on  one  side,  and  despotism 
on  the  other.  All  the  hopes  of  civilization  are  to  be  found 
with  the  one,  with  the  other  all  that  it  dreads.  The  question 
of  the  future  has  been  simplified,  reducing  the  claims  of  power 


460  SUPPLEMENT   TO    THE   HOPES    OF  ITALY. 

to  a  single  standard  of  legitimacy  —  the  fulfilment  of  all  the 
conditions  of  a  progressive  civilization.  Peasants  have  sat 
in  the  halls  of  princes,  and  the  prestige  of  royalty  is  gone. 
Every  capital  in  Europe  has  been  in  the  hands  of  the  people, 
and  during  their  dominion  scarcely  an  excess  was  committed. 
Every  capital  has  fallen  again  into  the  hands  of  the  sovereign, 
and  prison  and  exile  and  the  gibbet  have  marked  their  return. 
Whenever  a  new  convulsion  comes,  and  come  it  must,  there 
will  be  but  one  question — the  will  of  the  many — and  but  one 
test  —  their  good. 

And  next,  we  have  seen  that,  at  the  beginning  of  the  war 
of  independence,  there  were  two  prominent  parties  in  Italy 
and  one  in  the  shade.  The  king  of  Piedmont  was  the  first 
to  test  his  strength  and  failed,  whether  from  incompetence 
or  from  treachery,  posterity  will  decide.  A  failure  equally 
signal,  though  from  a  less  dubious  cause,  showed  how  little 
reliance  could  be  placed  in  the  pope  as  the  leader  of  a  great 
national  enterprize.  Last  came  the  republicans  with  no  reli- 
ance but  their  enthusiasm  and  their  faith.  Under  a  republi- 
can government  Rome  resisted  for  four  weeks  every  effort 
of  a  well-appointed  army  and  a  skilful  general,  and  never  had 
the  administration  been  conducted  more  calmly,  with  greater 
order,  or  so  equal  a  distribution  of  justice.  If  such  calmness 
and  energy  and  equal  justice  could  be  displayed  by  unexperi- 
enced republicans  in  such  a  moment  of  trial,  what  might  not 
be  hoped  from  them  when  greater  experience  should  have 
perfected  their  science,  and  better  days  have  given  them 
time  to  test  and  develop  their  designs?  Let  who  will  tax 
republicanism  with  incompetence,  history  is  there  with  her 


SUPPLEMENT   TO    THE   HOPES   OF  ITALY.  461 

stern  realities  to  show  that  of  all  the  governments  which  at- 
tempted to  lead  the  great  movement  of  Italian  regeneration, 
the  republican  was  the  only  one  that  proved  itself  equal  to  the 
task.  Despotism  appealed  to  interest,  republicanism  to  con- 
science. The  one  to  present  enjoyment,  the  other  to  future 
good.  The  former  addressed  itself  to  that  cold  spirit  of  cal- 
culation, which  weighs  all  the  chances  of  personal  hazard,  the 
other  to  that  expansive  love  of  humanity,  which  looks  hopefully 
to  the  happiness  of  the  son  as  an  ample  compensation  for  the 
sacrifices  of  the  father. 

And  finally,  the  question  of  religious  freedom  has  become 
indissolubly  connected  with  that  of  Italian  independence. 

When  the  war  of  independence  broke  out,  the  court  of 
Rome  might  have  taken  the  lead  and  kept  it,  and  that  purely 
by  the  force  of  its  moral  power.  But  from  the  day  in  which 
Pius  IX.  signed  his  appeal  to  the  Catholic  sovereigns  of 
Europe,  he  renounced  the  position  which  he  had  held  as  the 
leader  of  Italian  reform,  and  made  himself  the  dependent  of 
the  absolute  principles  of  his  protectors.  After  a  declaration 
so  precise,  it  is  mockery  to  talk  of  paternal  love,  or  a  consci- 
entious abhorrence  of  war.  Every  drop  of  blood  that  was 
shed  before  the  walls  of  Rome,  has  risen  up  in  testimony 
against  him.  Foreign  bayonets  may  force  him  again  upon 
his  unwilling  people,  and  an  appeal  to  old  associations,  and 
base  flattery  of  the  baser  feelings  of  our  nature,  may  keep 
him  there  for  a  time ;  but  nothing  can  ever  restore  to  the 
Vatican  that  force  of  opinion  which  it  has  wielded  so  fatally 
and  so  long. 

Therefore,  the  events  of  the  last  two  years  have  shown 
39* 


462  SUPPLEMENT  TO    THE   HOPES    OF   ITALY. 

that  every  liberal  movement  of  an  Italian  prince,  will  neces- 
sarily lead  to  a  war  of  independence.  They  have  shown  that 
the  means  for  conducting  this  war  are  greater  than  they  ever 
were  before,  and  the  spirit  of  the  people  better  prepared  to 
meet  the  sacrifices  which  it  will  inevitably  impose. 

They  have  shown  that  there  is  no  single  banner  which  the 
people  can  follow ;  that  the  personal  ambition  of  princes  is  a 
serious  obstacle  to  the  success  of  such  a  contest ;  that  to  win  it 
with  their  guidance,  they  must  pay  the  full  price  of  victory, 
and  submit  to  all  the  penalties  of  defeat. 

They  have  shown  that  it  is  not  in  palaces  that  they  are  to 
look  for  the  genius  and  the  energy  which  so  arduous  a  task 
requires. 

They  have  shown  that  the  concessions  of  the  sovereign  are 
no  sure  basis  of  reform ;  that  what  terror  or  caprice  or  even  a 
sense  of  justice  may  wrest  from  him  to-day,  may  be  given  back 
to  him  to-morrow  by  the  bayonet. 

They  have  shown  that  in  the  day  of  trial  the  real  strength 
of  a  country  is  to  be  found  in  the  energetic  will  of  the  people, 
combined  and  directed  by  the  men  of  their  own  choice. 

They  have  shown  that  the  strength  of  absolute  power  is 
founded  on  money  or  on  credit  and  on  the  hirelings  that  these 
can  command. 

They  have  shown  that  for  the  leaders  of  great  movements 
there  is  no  compromise  between  victory  and  defeat. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  POPE 

(JUNE,  1849.) 


We  confess  that  we  cannot  look  without  deep  regret  upon 
the  efforts  which  are  now  making  in  different  parts  of  the 
country  to  raise  money  for  the  pope.  We  would  wish  to 
speak  with  all  proper  respect  of  the  head  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  as  citizens  of  Rhode  Island  we  are  bound  to 
acknowledge  every  man's  right  to  choose  his  own  altar. 
But  it  seems  to  us  that  Bishop  Hughes  has  selected  a  very 
unfortunate  moment  for  his  appeal  to  the  Catholic  citizens 
of  a  republic  which  has  founded  its  greatness  upon  a  people's 
right  to  choose  their  own  government.  If  the  pope  were 
actually  in  want,  we  should  be  the  first  to  say  that  his  spir- 
itual subjects  ought  to  contribute  something  towards  his 
support.  But  the  guest  of  the  King  of  Naples  can  hardly 
be  at  a  loss  for  a  roof  or  a  dinner,  and  the  contributions  of 
Ferrara,  whether  they  ever  reached  Gaeta  or  not,  were 
levied  by  his  Austrian  allies,  for  the  use  of  Pius  IX.  Bo- 
logna, too,  has  been  reconquered  in  his  name,  and  Spain,  as 
well  as  Naples,  is  devoted  to  his  service.  The  wants  of  a 
bishop  under  such  circumstances  cannot  be  very  great,  and 
yet  this  is  the  title  under  which  the  appeal  is  made.     We 


464:  CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   THE   POPE. 

fear  that  Bishop  Hughes,  in  his  Catholic  loyalty,  has  al- 
lowed his  recollections  of  the  Vatican  and  the  Quirinal  to  give 
somewhat  too  strong  a  coloring  to  his  picture  of  a  sovereign 
pontiff. 

"We  regret  this  the  more,  from  the  feelings  of  respect* 
which  we  have  always  been  accustomed  to  cherish  for  Pius 
IX.  Europe  owes  him  much,  and  we  sincerely  believe  that 
he  came  to  the  throne  with  a  pure  heart  and  upright  inten- 
tions. The  good  that  he  has  done  will  live  after  him,  and 
we  would  be  the  last  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  the  motives 
which  led  him  to  do  it.  But  there  is  a  point  in  his  reign  in 
which  some  doubts  must  arise,  or  where,  at  least,  we  must 
acknowledge  that  his  history  is  but  a  new  proof  added  to 
hundreds  of  others,  which  history  had  long  since  recorded, 
how  impossible  it  is  for  a  good  pope  to  make  a  good  king. 
It  was  with  the  reforms  at  Home,  that  the  revolutions  in 
upper  Italy  began,  and  Pius  IX.  must  have  known  too  well 
how  deep-rooted  an  Italian's  hatred  of  the  Austrians  is,  not 
to  have  foreseen  what  hopes  his  ready  acceptance  of  liberal- 
ism would  awaken.  We  can  easily  conceive,  that  when  the 
decisive  moment  came,  he  would  feel  that  it  was  a  painful 
effort  to  forget  all  but  his  duty  as  an  Italian  prince,  and  draw 
the  sword  against  men  who  looked  up  to  him  as  their  spiritual 
father.  We  can  understand  to  a  certain  degree  and  appreciate 
his  scruples.  But  they  only  prove  how  utterly  irreconcilable 
the  two  characters  are. 

Thus  much  for  the  past.  But  here  the  shadows  begin  to 
deepen.  The  Romans,  resolved  to  be  Italians,  rise  against 
the  minister  who  had  announced  his  intentions  of  separating 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    THE   POPE.  465 

the  cause  of  Italy  and  Rome.  A  new  ministry  is  formed. 
The  Pope  accepts  the  programme,  and  after  a  few  days,  steals 
away  in  disguise  and  flies  to  Gaeta.  A  republic  is  established 
on  the  ruins  of  the  most  absolute  of  monarchies.  The  people 
rally  around  its  banner  with  transport.  It  justifies  its  birth 
by  wise  laws  and  a  firm  and  equal  administration.  The 
pope's  spiritual  power  is  fully  recognized.  Not  a  stain 
reaches  the  altar.  But  the  men  who  have  proved  that  they 
know  how  to  govern  themselves,  declare  before  God  and 
man,  that  they  will  henceforth  obey  no  rulers  but  those  of 
their  own  choice.  Meanwhile  the  pope  appeals  to  the  mon- 
archs  of  Europe,  who  were  waiting  but  the  first  word  of  his 
voice  to  let  loose  their  hordes  upon  the  devoted  land.  Bo- 
logna is  taken  after  an  heroic  defence,  and  the  victorious 
Austrians  hasten  to  lay  siege  to  Ancona.  The  Neapolitan, 
fresh  from  the  massacre  of  his  own  subjects,  rushes  to  a  new 
feast  of  blood.  But  a  spirit  he  little  dreamed  of  meets  him  on 
his  way  and  forces  him  back. 

Catholic  Spain,  too,  still  trembling  to  her  very  centre  from 
her  own  intestine  commotions,  finds  a  moment  of  respite  to 
send  her  tribute  of  the  descendants  of  the  army  of  Bourbon  to 
the  sixth  sack  of  Rome.  And  France,  republican  France, 
under  the  presidency  of  a  nephew  of  one  who,  amid  all 
the  instincts  of  despotism,  still  felt  and  acknowledged  that  the 
only  basis  of  his  power  was  the  free  will  of  the  people,  sends 
an  army  of  men,  each  of  whom  claims  the  right  to  give  his 
vote  in  the  choice  of  his  own  rulers,  to  act  in  concert  with 
men  who  acknowledge  no  right,  but  that  of  the  prince  and  his 
bayonets.    A  first  assault  fails.     Menaces  and  intrigues,  and 


466 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    THE   POPE. 


deceitful  negotiations,  are  tried  in  vain.  Rome  stands  firm, 
and  three  men  are  found  who  can  purify  even  the  name  of 
Triumvir.  At  length  the  mask  is  raised.  Under  the  cover 
of  negotiations,  the  old  camp  of  Bourbon,  the  strong  position 
of  Monte  Mario  is  seized.  And  then  Rome  sees  once  more, 
after  an  almost  unbroken  repose  of  centuries,  a  hostile  army 
gathering  around  her  consecrated  walls.  And  who  can  tell 
what  fearful  record  shall  be  inscribed  upon  this  new  page  of 
history.  Bloodshed  and  death  and  the  insolence  of  the  strong 
man  and  the  agony  of  the  noble-hearted  and  orphans'  curses 
and  widows*  tears  are  already  written  there — and  even  while 
we  write,  the  page  perhaps  is  full.  From  those  green  hills, 
where  the  sunlight  slept  so  sweetly  on  the  olive  and  the  vine, 
the  cannon  and  the  bomb  have  poured  down  destruction  upon 
the  devoted  city.  Some  chance  shot  may  have  fallen  upon 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  or  a  shell  have  burst  in  that  quiet 
court,  shut  in  from  all  but  the  deep  blue  sky,  where  the  sooth- 
ing atmosphere  of  art  breathed  around  the  Laocoon  and  the 
Apollo.  Never  more,  perhaps,  shall  we  gaze  on  the  canvas 
which  Raphael  painted,  or  see  the  forms  which  started  forth 
with  more  than  human  grandeur  from  the  pencil  of  Michael 
Angelo.  And  those  pages,  traced  by  the  hand  of  a  Petrarch, 
a  Boccacio,  a  Tasso;  and  those  still  undeciphered  scrolls 
where  so  many  secrets  of  the  past  lie  hidden ;  and  those  calm 
6eats  of  studious  meditation ;  and  those  venerable  walls,  so 
large  a  portion  of  which  Goth  and  time  had  spared,  and 
which,  in  the  soft  moonbeam  or  in  the  mysterious  glow  of 
the  setting  sun,  spoke  to  you  so  thrillingly  of  Horace  and 
Cicero  and  Virgil ;  in  whose  shadows  so  many  a  pilgrim  has 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO    THE   POPE.  467 

soothed  his  aching  heart,  and  so  many  a  noble  spirit  drank 
inspiration  !  alas  for  the  holy  city !  alas  for  the  mighty  one ! 
alas  for  humanity  itself,  when  such  a  cloud  can  come  over  it, 
in  what  we  had  fondly  deemed  its  noon-day  splendor ! 

And  is  it  at  such  a  moment  and  amid  such  scenes  that 
Americans  are  called  upon  to  prove  their  sympathy  with  the 
man  in  whose  name  all  this  is  done  ?  Wait  yet  but  a  little 
and  we  shall  know  how  far  he  deserves  it.  Stay  your  hands 
for  a  moment ;  the  curtain  is  rising  —  look,  if  you  dare,  on 
what  it  reveals,  and  remember,  that  the  least  which  a  republi- 
can can  give  to  a  people  crushed  in  defence  of  their  liberties, 
is  a  garland  for  their  grave  and  detestation  for  all  who  shared 
in  their  destruction. 


NOTE  TO  PAGE  454. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  Catholic  theory  of  the  church  as  a  beautiful 
theory,  and  such  indeed  it  is,  filling  the  imagination  and  harmonizing 
with  many  very  natural  feelings.  But  it  is  none  the  less  at  variance 
with  the  fundamental  principle  of  modern  civilization,  which  itself  is 
derived  from  the  spirit  and  the  letter  of  Christ's  teachings.  These 
teachings  tell  us  that  whatever  may  be  our  situation  in  this  world,  we 
must  all  answer  for  ourselves  in  the  next  as  independent  and  respon- 
sible individuals.  Now,  individual  responsibility  is,  of  course,  personal, 
and  precludes  the  possibility  of  any  intermediate  agency.  For,  if  there 
were  any  such  agency  invested  with  the  power  of  interpreting  the 
master's  will  and  enforcing  its  interpretations,  then  the  primary  respon- 
sibility of  the  individual  to  the  master  would  become  a  responsibility 
of  the  individual  to  the  agent,  who  alone  would  be  responsible  to  the 
master.  Or,  in  other  words,  man  would  be  responsible  to  the  church 
and  the  church  to  God ;  which  is  the  same  as  to  say,  that  Christ  came 
and  lived  with  man  to  cut  him  off  from  his  immediate  dependence  upon 
his  Creator.  Christ's  own  words  tell  us  how  irreconcilable  this  is  with 
the  spirit  of  his  mission,  and  history  warns  us  on  every  page  how  fatal 
the  snare  is  which  it  spreads  for  human  passion. 


THE    E 


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14  DAY  USE 

TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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LD  21A-50m-12,'60 
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DABBOWS 

olo&ical,  Mipus  ait  SMay  School  Boob. 

Rochester,  :N".  Y. 


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